FROM  SCHOOL 
BATTLE-FIELD 


CAPT.  CHARLES  KING 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^ 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2010  witii  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


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FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD 


Coiue  dinvn  atl'  tlif  top  o'  dthat  hsiiTse!" 


Page  257 


FROM  SCHOOL 

TO  BATTLE-FIELD 


A    STORY    OF 
THE   WAR   DAYS 


BY 

CAPTAIN  CHARLES  KING,  U.S.A. 

AUTHOR  OF   "TROOPER   ROSS,"   ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED     BY 

VIOLET  OAKLEY  AND  CHARLES  H.  STEPHENS 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 

1899 


Copyright,  1898, 

BY 

J.  B.  LiPPiNcoTT  Company. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"Come  down  aff  the  top  o'  dthat  harrse!"    .    Frontispiece. 
Almost   senseless,  till   Shorty   strove   to   lift   his    rleeding 

HEAD  UPON  his  KNEE 30 

"  I  couldn't  stand  it.   I  HAD  TO  GO" 106 

She    was    permitted    to    read    and    to    weep    over    Snipe's 

pathetic  letter 123 

First  capture  of  the  advancing  arms  of  the  Union    ....  221 

"Where'd  you  get  that  WATCH  y"' 302 


5085S8 


FROM 
SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 


CHAPTER   I. 


"  If  there's  anything  I  hate  more  than  a  rainy  Satur- 
day, call  me  a  tadpole  !"  said  the  taller  of  two  boys  who, 
with  their  chins  on  their  arms  and  their  arms  on  the 
top  of  the  window-sash,  were  gazing  gloomily  out  over 
a  dripping  world.  It  was  the  second  day  of  an  east 
wind,  and  every  boy  on  Manhattan  Island  knows  what 
an  east  wind  brings  to  New  York  City,  or  used  to  in  days 
before  the  war,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 

"  And  our  nine  could  have  lammed  that  Murray  Hill 
crowd  a  dozen  to  nothing !"  moaned  the  shorter,  with 
disgust  in  every  tone.  "  Next  Saturday  the  '  Actives' 
have  that  ground,  and  there'll  be  no  decent  place  to  play 

9 


10  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

— unless  we  can  trap  them  over  to  Hoboken.  What 
shall  we  do,  anyhow  ?" 

The  taller  boy,  a  curly-headed,  dark-eyed  fellow  of 
sixteen,  whose  long  legs  had  led  to  his  school  name  of 
Snipe,  turned  from  the  contemplation  of  an  endless  vista 
of  roofs,  chimneys,  skylights,  clothes-lines,  all  swimming 
in  an  atmosphere  of  mist,  smoke,  and  rain,  and  glanced 
back  at  the  book-laden  table. 

"  There's  that  Virgil,"  he  began,  tentatively. 

"  Oh,  Virgil  be  blowed !"  broke  in  the  other  on  the 
instant.  "  It's  bad  enough  to  have  to  work  week-days. 
I  mean  what  can  we  do  for — fun  ?"  and  the  blue  eyes 
of  the  youngster  looked  up  into  the  brown  of  his  taller 
chum. 

"  That's  all  very  well  for  you.  Shorty,"  said  Snipe. 
"  Latin  comes  easy  to  you,  but  it  don't  to  me.  You've 
got  a  sure  thing  on  exam.,  I  haven't,  and  the  pater's 
been  rowing  me  every  week  over  those  blasted  reports." 

"  Well-1,  I'm  as  bad  off  in  algebra  or  Greek,  for  that 
matter.  '  Pop'  told  me  last  week  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  myself,"  was  the  junior's  answer. 

And,  lest  it  be  supposed  that  by  "  Pop"  he  referred 
to  the  author  of  his  being,  and  thereby  deserves  the  dis- 
approval of  every  right-minded  reader  at  the  start,  let  it 
be  explained  here  and  now  that  "  Pop"  was  the  head — 
the  "  rector" — of  a  school  famous  in  the  ante-bellum 
days  of  Gotham ;  famous  indeed  as  was  its  famous 
head,    and   though   they   called   him    nicknames,    the 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  H 

boys  worshipped  him.  Older  boys,  passed  on  into  the 
cap  and  gown  of  Columbia  (items  of  scholastic  attire 
sported  only,  however,  at  examinations  and  the  semi- 
annual speech-making),  referred  to  the  revered  pro- 
fessor of  the  Greek  language  and  literature  as  "  Bull," 
and  were  no  less  fond  of  him,  nor  did  they  hold  him 
less  in  reverence.  Where  are  they  now,  I  wonder? — 
those  numerous  works  bound  in  calf,  embellished  on 
the  back  with  red  leather  bands  on  which  were  stamped 

in  gold   's   Virgil,  's   Horace,  's   Sallust, 

's  Homer  ?     Book  after  book  had  he,  grammars  of 

both  tongues,  prosodies  likewise,  Roman  and  Greek  an- 
tiquities, to  say  nothing  of  the  huge  classical  dictionary. 
One  could  cover  a  long  shelf  in  one's  student  library 
without  drawing  upon  the  works  of  any  other  authority, 
and  here  in  this  dark  little  room,  on  the  topmost  floor 
of  a  brownstone  house  in  Fourteenth  Street,  a  school- 
boy table  was  laden  at  its  back  with  at  least  eight  of 
Pop's  ponderous  tomes  to  the  exclusion  of  other  classics. 
But  on  the  shelf  above  were  books  by  no  means  so 
scholarly  and  far  more  worn.  There  they  stood  in 
goodly  array,  Mayne  Reid's  "Boy  Hunters,"  "Scalp 
Hunters,"  "The  Desert  Home,"  "The  White  Chief," 
flanked  by  a  dusty  "  Sanford  and  Merton"  that  appeared 
to  hold  aloof  from  its  associates.  There,  dingy  with 
wear  though  far  newer,  was  Thomas  Hughes's  inimitable 
"  Tom  Brown's  School-Days  at  Rugby."  There  was  what 
was  then  his  latest,  "  The  Scouring  of  the  White  Horse," 


12  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

which,  somehow,  retained  the  freshness  of  the  shop. 
There  were  a  few  volumes  of  Dickens,  and  Cooper's 
Leatherstocking  Tales.  There  on  the  wall  were  some 
vivid  battle  pictures,  cut  from  the  London  Illustrated 
News, — the  Scots  Grays  in  the  melee  with  the  Russian 
cavalry  at  Balaklava  ;  the  Guards,  in  their  tall  bearskins 
and  spike-tail  coats,  breasting  the  slopes  of  the  Alma. 
There  hung  a  battered  set  of  boxing-gloves,  and  on  the 
hooks  above  them  a  little  brown  rifle,  muzzle-loading,  of 
course.  The  white-covered  bed  stood  against  the  wall  on 
the  east  side  of  the  twelve-by-eight  apartment,  its  head  to 
the  north.  At  its  foot  were  some  objects  at  which  school- 
boys of  to-day  would  stare  in  wonderment ;  a  pair  of 
heavy  boots  stood  on  the  floor,  with  a  pair  of  trousers 
so  adjusted  to  them  that,  in  putting  on  the  boots,  one 
was  already  half-way  into  the  trousers,  and  had  only 
to  pull  them  up  and  tightly  belt  them  at  the  waist. 
On  the  post  hung  a  red  flannel  shirt,  with  a  black  silk 
neckerchief  sewed  to  the  back  of  the  broad  rolling 
collar.  On  top  of  the  post  was  the  most  curious  object 
of  all, — a  ribbed  helmet  of  glistening  black  leather,  with 
a  broad  curving  brim  that  opened  out  like  a  shovel  at 
the  back,  while  a  stiff,  heavy  eagle's  neck  and  head,  pro- 
jecting from  the  top,  curved  over  them  and  held  in  its 
beak  an  emblazoned  front  of  black  patent  leather  that 
displayed  in  big  figures  of  white  the  number  40,  and  in 
smaller  letters,  arching  over  the  figures,  the  name.  Lady 
Washington.     It  was  the  fire-cap  of  a  famous  engine 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  13 

company  of  the  old  New  York  volunteer  department, — 
a  curious  thing,  indeed,  to  be  found  in  a  school-boy's 
room. 

The  desk,  littered  with  its  books  and  papers,  stood  in 

the  comer  between  the  window  and  the  east  wall.    Along 

the  west  wall  was  a  curtained  clothes-press.    Then  came 

the   marble-topped  washstand,  into   which   the   water 

would  flow  only  at  night,  when  the  demand  for  Gotham's 

supply  of  Croton  measurably  subsided.     Beyond  that 

was  the  door  leading  to  the  open  passage  toward  the 

stairway  to  the  lower  floors.     In  the  corner  of  the  room 

were  the  school-boy  paraphernalia  of  the  day, — a  cricket 

bat,  very  much  battered,  two  base-ball  bats  that  the  boys 

of  this  generation  would  doubtless  scan  suspiciously, 

"heft'*  cautiously,  then  discard  disdainfully,  for  they 

were  of  light  willow  and  bigger  at  the  bulge  by  full  an 

inch  than  the  present  regulation.     Beneath  them  in  the 

corner  lay  the  ball  of  the  year  1860,  very  like  the  article 

now  m  use,  but  then  referred  to  as  a  "  ten  shilling," 

and  invariably  made  at  an  old  shoe-shop  at  the  foot  of 

Second  Avenue,  whose  owner,  a  veteran  cobbler,  had 

wisely  quit  half-soling  and  heehng  for  a  sixpence  and 

was  coining  dollars  at  the  newly  discovered  trade.     All 

the  leading  clubs  were  then  his  patrons, — the  Atlantics, 

the  Eckfords,  the  Mutuals,  the  Stars,  even  the  Unions  of 

Morrisania.     All  the  leading  junior  clubs  swore  by  him 

and  would  use  no  ball  but  his,— the  champion  Actives, 

the  Alerts,  the  Uncas.     (A  "shanghai  club"  the  boys 


14  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

declared  the  last  named  to  be  when  it  first  appeared  at 
Hamilton  Square  in  its  natty  uniform  of  snow-white 
flannel  shirts  and  sky-blue  trousers.)  Base  ball  was  in 
its  infancy,  perhaps,  but  what  a  lusty  infant  and  how 
pervading!  Beyond  that  corner  and  hanging  midway 
on  the  northward  wall  was  a  portentous  object,  an  old- 
fashioned  maple  shell  snare-drum,  with  white  buff 
leather  sHng  and  two  pairs  of  ebony  sticks,  their  pohshed 
heads  and  handles  proclaiming  constant  use,  and  the 
marble  surface  of  the  washstand  top,  both  sides,  gave 
proof  that  when  practice  on  the  sheepskin  batter  head 
was  tabooed  by  the  household  and  the  neighborhood, 
the  inoffensive  stone  received  the  storm  of  "  drags,"  and 
"  flams,"  and  "  rolls,"  Lifting  the  curtain  that  overhung 
the  boyish  outfit  of  clothing,  there  stood  revealed  still 
further  evidence  of  the  martial  tastes  of  the  occupant,  for 
the  first  items  in  sight  were  a  natty  scarlet  shell-jacket,  a 
pair  of  trim  blue  trousers,  with  broad  stripe  of  buff,  and 
a  jaunty  little  forage-cap,  with  regimental  wreath  and 
number.  Underneath  the  curtain,  but  readily  hauled  into 
view,  were  found  screwed  and  bolted  to  heavy  blocks  of 
wood  two  strange-looking  miniature  cannon,  made,  as 
one  could  soon  determine,  by  sawing  off  a  brace  of  old- 
fashioned  army  muskets  about  a  foot  from  the  breech. 
Two  powder-flasks  and  a  shot-bag  hung  on  pegs  at 
the  side  of  the  curtained  clothes-press.  A  little  mirror 
was  clamped  to  the  waU  above  the  washstand.  Some 
old  fencing  foils  and  a  weather-beaten  umbrella  stood 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  15 

against  the  desk.  An  open  paint-box,  much  besmeared, 
lay  among  the  books.  Some  other  pamphlets  and  maga- 
zines were  stacked  up  on  the  top  of  the  clothes-press. 
Two  or  three  colored  prints,  one  of  Columbian  Engine, 
No.  14,  a  very  handsome  Philadelphia  "  double-decker." 
Another  of  Ringgold  Hose,  No.  7,  a  really  beautiful  four- 
wheeler  of  the  old,  old  type,  with  chocolate-colored  run- 
ning gear  and  a  dazzhng  plate-glass  reel,  completed  the 
ornamentation  of  this  school-boy  den.  There  was  no 
room  for  a  lounge, — there  was  room  only  for  two  chairs ; 
but  that  diminutive  apartment  was  one  of  the  most 
popular  places  of  resort  Pop's  boys  seemed  to  know, 
and  thereby  it  became  the  hot-bed  of  more  mischief, 
the  birthplace  of  more  side-splitting  school  pranks  than 
even  the  staid  denizens  of  that  most  respectable  brown- 
stone  front  ever  dreamed  of,  whatever  may  have  been 
the  convictions  of  the  neighborhood,  for  Pop's  boys,  be 
it  known,  had  no  dormitory  or  school-house  in  common. 
No  such  luck  !  They  lived  all  over  Manhattan  Island,  all 
over  Kings,  Queens,  and  Westchester  counties.  They 
came  from  the  wilds  of  Hoboken  and  the  heights  of  Ber- 
gen. They  dwelt  in  massive  brownstone  fronts  on  Fifth 
Avenue  and  in  modest  wooden,  one-story  cottages  at 
Fort  Washington.  They  wore  "  swell"  garments  in  some 
cases  and  shabby  in  others.  They  were  sons  of  states- 
men, capitalists,  lawyers,  doctors,  and  small  shopkeepers. 
They  were  rich  and  they  were  poor ;  they  were  high  and 
they  were  low,  tall  and  short,  skinny  and  stout,  but  they 


16  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

were  all  pitched,  neck  and  crop,  into  Pop's  hopper, 
treated  share  and  share  alike,  and  ground  and  polished 
and  prodded  or  praised,  and  a  more  stand-on-your-own- 
bottom  lot  of  young  vessels  ("  vessels  of  wrath,"  said 
the  congregation  of  a  neighboring  tabernacle)  never  had 
poured  into  them  impartially  the  treasures  of  the  spring 
of  knowledge.  They  were  of  four  classes,  known  as  the 
first,  second,  third,  and  fourth  Latin,  corresponding  to 
the  four  classes  of  Columbia  and  other  colleges,  and  to 
be  a  first  Latin  boy  at  Pop's  was  second  only  to  being  a 
senior  at  Yale  or  Columbia.  As  a  rule  the  youngsters 
"  started  fair"  together  at  the  bottom,  and  knew  each 
other  to  the  backbone  by  the  time  they  reached  the  top. 
Few  new  boys  came  in  except  each  September  with  the 
fourth  Latin.  Pop  had  his  own  way  of  teaching,  and 
the  boy  that  didn't  know  his  methods  and  had  not  mas- 
tered his  "  copious  notes"  might  know  anybody  else's 
Caesar,  Sallust,  or  Cicero  by  rote,  but  he  couldn't  know 
Latin.  Pop  had  a  pronunciation  of  the  Roman  tongue 
that  only  a  Pop's  bred  boy  could  thoroughly  appreciate. 
Lads  who  came,  as  come  in  some  rare  cases  they  did,  from 
Eton  or  Harrow,  from  the  Latin  schools  of  Boston  or  the 
manifold  academies  of  the  East,  read  as  they  had  been 
taught  to  read,  and  were  rewarded  with  a  fine  sarcasm 
and  the  information  that  they  had  much  to  unlearn. 
Pop's  school  was  encompassed  roundabout  by  many  an- 
other school,  whose  pupils  took  their  airing  under  ushers' 
eyes,  to  the  howling  disdain  of  Pop's  unhampered  pupils, 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  I7 

who  lined  the  opposite  curb  and  dealt  loudly  in  satirical 
comment.  There  was  war  to  the  knife  between  Pop's 
boys  and  Charlier's  around  the  corner,  to  the  end  that 
the  hours  of  recess  had  to  be  changed  or  both  schools, 
said  the  police,  would  be  forbidden  the  use  of  Madison 
Square.  They  had  many  faults,  had  Pop's  boys,  though 
not  all  the  neighborhood  ascribed  to  them,  and  they  had 
at  least  one  virtue, — they  pulled  well  together.  By  the 
time  it  got  to  the  top  of  the  school  each  class  was  like  a 
band  of  brothers,  and  never  was  there  a  class  of  which 
this  could  be  more  confidently  asserted  than  the  array  of 
some  twenty-seven  youngsters,  of  whom  Snipe  and  his 
smaller  chum,  Shorty,  were  prominent  members,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty. 

Yet,  they  had  their  black  sheep,  as  is  to  be  told,  and 
their  scapegraces,  as  will  not  need  to  be  told,  and  months 
of  the  oddest,  maddest,  merriest  school  life  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  vivid  excitement  the  great  city  ever  knew, 
and  on  the  two  lads  wailing  there  at  the  attic  window 
because  their  fates  had  balked  the  longed-for  game  at 
Hamilton  Square,  there  were  dawning  days  that,  rain 
or  shine,  would  call  them  shelterless  into  constant 
active,  hazardous  hfe,  and  that,  in  one  at  least,  would 
try  and  prove  and  temper  a  brave,  impatient  spirit, 
— that  should  be  indeed  the  very  turning-point  of  his 
career. 

Patter,  patter,  patter !  drip,  drip,  drip !  the  rain  came 
pelting  in  steady  shower.     The  gusty  wind  blew  the 


/ 


13  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

chimney  smoke  down  into  the  hollow  of  the  long 
quadrilateral  of  red  brick  house  backs.  Three,  four, 
and  five  stories  high,  they  hemmed  in,  without  a  break, 
a  "  plant"  of  rectangular  back-yards,  each  with  its  flag- 
stone walk,  each  with  its  square  patch  of  turf,  each 
with  its  flower-beds  at  the  foot  of  the  high,  spike- 
topped  boundary  fence,  few  with  visible  shrubs,  fewer 
still  diversified  by  grape  arbors,  most  of  them  criss- 
crossed with  clothes-lines,  several  ornamented  with 
whirligigs,  all  on  this  moist  November  afternoon  wring- 
ing wet  from  the  steady  downpour  that  came  on  with 
the  dawn  and  broke  the  boys'  hearts,  for  this  was  to 
have  been  the  match  day  between  the  Uncas  and  the 
Murray  Hills,  and  Pop's  school  was  backing  the  Indians 
to  a  man.  One  more  week  and  winter  might  be  upon 
them  and  the  ball  season  at  an  end.  Verily,  it  was 
indeed  too  bad ! 

With  a  yawn  of  disgust,  the  shorter  boy  at  the  open- 
topped  window  threw  up  his  hands  and  whirled  about. 
There  on  the  bed  lay  the  precious  base-ball  uniform 
in  which  he  was  wont  to  figure  as  shortstop.  There, 
too,  lay  Snipe's,  longer  in  the  legs  by  nearly  a  foot. 
"There's  nothing  in-doors  but  books,  Snipy.  There's 
only  one  thing  to  tempt  a  fellow  out  in  the  wet, — a  fire, 
and  small  chance  of  that  on  such  a  day.  We  might 
take  the  guns  up  on  the  roof  and  shoot  a  few  skylights 
or  something " 


"  Shut  up !"  said  Snipe,  at  this  juncture,  suddenly, 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  IQ 

impetuously  throwing  up  his  hand.  "Twenty-third 
Street !" 

Shorty  sprang  to  the  window  and  levelled  an  old 
opera-glass  at  the  summit  of  an  odd  white  tower  that 
loomed,  dim  and  ghost-like,  through  the  mist  above  the 
housetops  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Both  boys'  eyes 
were  kindling,  their  lips  parting  in  excitement.  Both 
were  on  tiptoe. 

"Right!  Down  comes  the  lever!"  was  the  next 
announcement.     "  Upper  Fifth,  I'll  bet  a  bat !    Listen  !" 

Suddenly  there  pealed  on  the  heavy  air,  solemn  and 
slow,  the  deep,  mellow  tones  of  a  great  bell.  Even  as 
he  counted  the  strokes  each  boy  reached  for  his  cap. 
One — two — three — four ! 

"Fourth!"  cried  Shorty.  "Come  on!"  And,  light 
as  kittens,  away  scurried  the  two,  skimming  down  three 
flights  of  stairs,  nearly  capsizing  a  sedate  old  butler, 
snatching  their  top-coats  in  the  hall,  letting  themselves 
out  with  a  bang,  leaping  down  the  broad  flight  of 
brownstone  steps  to  the  broader  walk  below,  then 
spurting  away  for  Union  Square,  fast  as  light-heeled, 
light-hearted  lads  could  run. 


'■^^y-V^^ 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  CURIOUS  thing  to  look  back  upon  is  the  old  volunteer 
fire  department  of  New  York  as  it  was  forty  years  ago. 
No  horses,  no  fire-boats,  few  steamers,  no  telegraph 
alarm-boxes,  only  a  great  array  of  practically  go-as-you- 
please  companies,  averaging  forty  or  fifty  men  apiece, 
scattered  all  over  the  inhabited  parts  of  the  island  from 
Harlem  to  the  Battery.  Sixty  of  these  organizations, 
there  or  thereabouts,  were  hose  companies,  each  man- 
ning a  light,  high-wheeled,  fancifully  painted  carriage 
with  its  hose-reel  perched  gracefully  above  the  run- 
ning-gear, decked  out  with  fancy  lamps  and  jangling 
bells, — a  carriage  so  light  that  a  boy  could  start  it  on  the 
level  and  a  dozen  athletic  men  could  make  it  fairly  spin 
over  the  paved  streets.  Then  there  were  fifty  engine 
companies,  all  but  two  or  three  specially  favored  bands 
"  tooling"  hand  machines,  some  of  the  old  "  double- 
deck"  Philadelphia  pattern,  some  with  long  side  levers, 
20 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  21 

"  brakes"  they  called  them ;  others  still  with  strange, 
uncouth  shapes,  built  by  some  local  expert  with  the 
idea  of  out-squirting  all  competitors.  Down  in  Centre 
Street  was  the  heavy  apparatus  of  the  Exempt  Com- 
pany, only  called  upon  in  case  of  fires  of  unusual  mag- 
nitude. Near  by,  too,  was  stored  a  brace  of  what  were 
then  considered  powerful  steamers,  brought  out  only 
on  such  occasions ;  but  two  companies  that  wielded 
strong  political  influence  proudly  drew  at  the  end  of 
their  ropes  light-running  and  handsome  steam  fire- 
engines,  and  these  two  companies,  Americus  6, — "  Big 
Six"  as  they  called  her, — and  her  bitter  rivals  of  Man- 
hattan 8,  were  the  envied  of  all  the  department.  Add 
to  these  some  nineteen  hook  and  ladder  companies 
that  ran  long,  light,  prettily  ornamented  trucks,  and  you 
have  the  New  York  fire  department  as  it  was  just  before 
the  war.  Famous  men  were  its  chiefs  in  those  days, 
and  the  names  of  Harry  Howard  and  John  Decker,  of 
Carson  and  Cregier,  were  household  words  among  the 
boys  at  Pop's,  most  of  whom  were  strong  partisans  of 
some  company  on  whose  speed  and  prowess  they  pinned 
their  faith.  Strange,  indeed,  to-day  seems  the  system 
by  which  fire  alarms  were  communicated.  There  were 
no  electric  bells,  no  gongs,  no  telephones  in  the  various 
engine-houses,  which  were  scattered  all  over  the  town, 
generally  in  groups  of  two,  an  engine  and  a  hose 
company  being  "  located"  side  by  side,  though  a  large 
number  occupied  single  houses.     On  the  roof  of  the  old 


22  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

post-office  at  Nassau  Street,  in  a  huge  frame-work  at 
the  rear  of  the  City  Hall,  and  in  tall  observation-towers 
of  iron  tubing  or  wooden  frame,  placed  at  convenient 
points  about  the  city,  were  hung  big,  heavy,  deep-toned 
bells  that  struck  the  hour  at  noon  and  nine  at  night, 
but  otherwise  were  used  exclusively  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  alarms  of  fire.  The  city  was  divided  into  eight 
districts,  and  the  sounding  of  the  tower  bells  of  any 
number  from  one  to  eight,  inclusive,  meant  that  a  fire 
had  been  discovered  within  the  limits  of  that  district, 
and  all  companies  designated  for  service  therein  must 
hunt  it  up  and  put  it  out.  The  seventh  and  eighth  dis- 
tricts divided  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  a  little  below 
Canal  Street,  evenly  between  them.  Then,  as  the  city 
broadened  there,  the  great,  far-spreading  space  between 
the  East  and  North  Rivers,  south  of  Twenty-second 
Street,  was  parcelled  off  into  the  third,  fourth,  fifth, 
and  sixth  districts,  beginning  from  the  west.  These 
were  quite  narrow  at  the  south,  but  flared  out  north 
and  eastward.  Above  them,  on  the  east  and  west  sides 
of  the  city  respectively,  lay  the  first  and  second  districts, 
the  former  extending  almost  to  Harlem,  which  had  on 
Mount  Morris  its  own  bell-tower  and  at  its  foot  a  little 
department  of  its  own.  Night  and  day  a  single  watcher 
was  perched  in  the  glass- enclosed  lookout  at  the  sum- 
mit of  each  lofty  tower,  his  sole  communication  with 
the  world  below  being  a  speaking-tube  to  the  engine- 
house  at  the  base  and  a  single  wire  that  connected  his 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  23 

"  circuit"  with  the  main  office  at  the  City  Hall,  a  circuit 
so  limited  in  its  possibilities  that  it  could  only  administer 
a  single  tap  at  a  time  upon  the  tiny  gong-bell  over  the 
watcher's  desk,  and  finally  the  big,  booming  bell  that, 
hanging  midway  down  in  the  lofty  structure,  was  yet 
so  high  above  the  neighboring  roofs  and  walls  that  its 
sound  bellowed  forth  in  unimpeded  volume.  It  was 
struck  by  a  massive  swinging  hammer,  worked  by  a 
long  steel  lever  aloft  in  the  watch-tower,  the  entire  ap- 
paratus being  the  design,  as  were  some  of  the  strange- 
looking  engines,  of  ex-Chief  Carson,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  treats  that  Pop's  boys  could  possibly  have  was 
to  be  piloted  of  a  wintry  Saturday  afternoon  or  summer 
evening,  by  one  of  their  number  who  had  the  open 
sesame,  up,  up  the  winding  stairway,  up  past  the  huge, 
silent  monster  that  hung  midway.  (You  may  venture  to 
bet  they  wasted  no  time  there,  but  scurried  past  him, 
full  tilt,  lest  an  alarm  should  come  at  the  instant  and  he 
should  suddenly  boom  forth  and  stun  them  with  his 
clamor.)  Once  well  past  him,  they  breathed  freer,  if 
harder,  for  the  climb  was  long,  and  at  last,  tapping  on  a 
little  trap-door,  were  admitted  to  the  sanctum  at  the 
summit,  and  could  gaze  in  delight  and  wonderment 
about  them  and  over  the  busy,  bustling  world  far,  far 
beneath.  Once  well  above  the  low  ground  of  Canal 
Street,  the  city  rose,  and  from  the  Hudson  to  the  East 
River,  along  about  the  line  of  Spring  Street,  the  ground 
was  high,  and  here  was  established  the  inner  row  of 


24  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

Gotham's  picket  guards  against  fire :  three  tall  towers, 
one  away  over  at  Essex  Market,  on  the  far  east  side, 
guarding  the  sixth  district ;  one  on  Marion  Street,  guard- 
ing the  lower  fourth  and  fifth ;  one  over  at  McDougal 
Street,  guarding  the  lower  third.  The  next  post  to  the 
northward  was  at  Jefferson  Market,  on  Sixth  Avenue,  a 
tall  white  wooden  shaft  that  seemed  to  pierce  the  skies, 
so  low  were  all  the  surrounding  buildings,  and  from  his 
eerie  at  its  summit  Jefferson's  ringer  watched  over  the 
upper  third  and  fourth  districts.  The  next  tower  was 
Twenty-third  Street,  near  First  Avenue,  an  open  affair 
of  iron,  like  that  at  McDougal,  and  here  the  guardian 
looked  out  over  all  the  lower  first  and  upper  fifth  dis- 
tricts, as  well  as  having  an  eye  on  the  northeastern  part 
of  the  fourth.  Then  came  Thirty-second  Street,  far 
over  near  Ninth  Avenue,  another  open  cage ;  and  in  the 
cozy,  stove-warmed  roost  at  the  top  of  each,  snugly 
closed  against  wind  and  weather,  day  and  night,  as  has 
been  said,  and  only  one  man  at  a  time,  the  ringer  kept 
his  ceaseless  vigil.  It  was  his  duty  to  be  ever  on  the 
alert,  ever  moving  about  and  spying  over  the  city.  If  an 
unusual  smoke  or  blaze  manifested  itself  anywhere,  he 
would  at  once  unsling  his  spy-glass  and  examine  it.  If 
it  lay  long  blocks  or  miles  away  and  closer  to  some 
other  tower,  the  unwritten  law  or  etiquette  of  the  craft 
demanded  that  he  should  touch  the  key  of  his  telegraph. 
This  instantly  sounded  the  little  bell  in  the  other  towers 
on  his  circuit,  and  called  upon  his  fellows  to  look  about 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  25 

them.  At  no  time  could  he  sit  and  read.  He  must 
pace  about  the  narrow  confines  of  his  rounded  den,  or 
on  the  encirchng  gallery  outside,  and  watch,  watch, 
watch.  Whenever  he  discovered  a  fire,  the  first  thing 
was  to  let  down  his  lever  and  strike  one  round  of  the 
district  in  which  it  lay, — fast  if  the  fire  was  near,  slow 
if  at  a  distance.  This  was  all  the  neighboring  companies 
had  to  judge  by,  as  the  first  arrivals  at  the  engine-house, 
or  the  loungers  generally  sitting  about  the  stove  back  of 
the  apparatus,  or  the  bunkers  who  slept  there  at  night, 
sprang  for  their  fire-caps,  raced  for  the  trumpet  that 
stood  on  the  floor  at  the  end  of  the  tongue,  threw  open 
their  doors,  manned  the  drag-rope,  and  "  rolled"  for  the 
street.  No  company  could  speed  far  on  its  route  before 
meeting  some  runner  or  partisan  who  could  tell  the  ex- 
act or  approximate  location  of  the  fire.  The  first  round 
from  the  tower  would  start  every  machine  in  its  neigh- 
borhood. Then  the  ringer  would  spring  to  his  telegraph 
and  rapidly  signal  to  the  City  Hall  two  rounds  of  the 
district,  then  add  the  number  of  his  tower.  Then  back 
he  would  go  to  his  lever  and  bang  another  round.  If 
the  fire  was  trivial  four  rounds  would  suffice  ;  if  a  great 
conflagration  ensued  he  would  keep  on  ringing  for  half 
an  hour,  and  if  it  proved  so  great  that  the  chief  engineer 
deemed  it  necessary  to  call  out  his  entire  force,  word 
would  be  sent  to  the  nearest  tower,  and  a  general  alarm 
would  result, — a  continuous  tolling  until  signalled  from 
the  City  Hall  to  cease.     Well  did  Pop's  boys  remember 


26  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  one  general  alarm  of  1859,  when  the  magnificent 
Crystal  Palace  at  Sixth  Avenue  and  Forty- second  Street 
went  up  in  smoke  ;  and  all  in  half  an  hour !  And  thrill- 
ing and  interesting  it  was  to  the  favored  few  of  their 
number  permitted  sometimes  to  stand  watch  of  an  even- 
ing with  the  ringer,  and  to  peer  down  on  the  gaslights 
of  the  bustling  streets  and  over  dim  roofs  and  spires  and 
into  many  an  open  window  long  blocks  away  !  It  was 
joy  to  be  allowed  to  man  the  lever  with  the  silent,  mys- 
terious hermit  of  the  tower  and  help  him  bang  the  big 
bell  when  the  last  click  of  the  telegraph  from  the  City 
Hall  announced  that  the  second-hand  of  the  regulator 
at  the  main  office  had  just  reached  the  mark  at  nine 
o'clock.  It  was  simply  thrilling  to  sit  and  watch  the 
keen-eyed  sentinel  as  he  suddenly  and  intently  scanned 
a  growing  light  about  some  distant  dormer  window, 
reached  for  his  glass,  peered  through  it  one  instant,  then 
clapped  it  into  its  frame,  sprang  for  the  lever,  and  in 
another  moment  three  or  four  or  five  deep,  clanging 
notes  boomed  out  on  the  night  air  from  below.  It  was 
wild  delight  to  lean  from  the  gallery  without  and  watch 
the  rush  and  excitement  in  the  streets, — to  hear  the  jan- 
gle of  the  bells  of  the  white  hose  carriage  as  "  she"  shot 
suddenly  into  view  and,  with  a  dozen  active  dots  on  the 
drag-rope,  went  spinning  down  the  street,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  her  next-door  neighbor,  the  engine,  with  a 
rapidly  growing  crew.  It  was  keen  excitement  to  watch 
the  bursting  of  the  blaze,  the  roll  of  the  smoke  from  the 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  27 

upper  windows,  to  see  it  wax  and  spread  and  light  up 
the  neighboring  roofs  and  chimneys  with  its  glare,  to 
mark  from  on  high  the  swiftly  gathering  throngs  on  the 
broad  avenue,  and  under  the  gaslight  to  see  company 
after  company  come  trotting  out  from  the  side  streets, 
curving  round  into  the  car-tracks,  and  the  moment  the 
broad  tires  of  their  engine,  truck,  or  carriage  struck  the 
flat  of  the  rails,  up  would  rise  a  yell  from  every  throat 
and  away  they  would  go  at  racing  speed.     It  was  thrill- 
ing, indeed,  to  see  two  rival  companies  reach  the  avenue 
at  the  same  point  and  turn  at  once  into  the  tracks. 
Then  to  the  stirring  peal  of  the  alarm  the  fiercely  con- 
tending bands  would  seem  fairly  to  spurn  the  stones 
beneath  their  flying  feet,  and  carts,  carriages,  "  busses," 
everything  except  the  railway- cars  themselves,  would 
clear  the  track  for  the  rival  racers,  and  the  air  would 
resound  with  their  rallying-cries.      Time  and  again,  it 
must  be  owned,  so  fierce  was  the  strain  for  supremacy, 
that  furious  rows  broke  forth  between  the  contestants, 
and  that  between  many  companies  there  were  for  months 
and  years  bitter  feuds  that  often  led  to  war  to  the  knife, 
and  a  fire  was  sometimes  left  to  look  out  for  itself  while 
the  firemen  settled  their  quarrel  with  fists,  stones,  and 
"spanners."     As  a  rule,  though,  there  were  so  many 
companies  at  each  fire  that  there  were  more  than  enough 
to  fight  the  flames,  for  every  company  had  to  run  to 
two  districts  as  well  as  cover  its  own  neighborhood. 
Rowdyism  was  rampant  in  some  of  the  organizations, 


28  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

but  then  a  benignant  "  Tammany"  guarded  the  interests 
of  a  force  so  strong  in  numbers,  so  potent  a  factor  in 
pontics,  and  only  when  a  company  had  become  repeat- 
edly and  notoriously  negligent  of  its  proper  duties  in 
order  to  indulge  its  love  for  fight  was  it  actually  dis- 
banded. Compared  with  the  system  of  to-day  it  was 
almost  grotesque ;  but  in  the  years  when  Pop's  boys 
were  in  their  glory  the  old  volunteer  fire  department 
was  on  its  last  legs,  yet  was  as  ignorant  of  its  coming 
dissolution  as  of  the  approach  of  the  great  war  that 
should  summon  so  many  of  its  members  to  meet  a  foe 
far  harder  to  down  than  the  hottest  fire  they  had  ever 
tackled.  They  were  still  monarchs  of  all  they  surveyed, 
those  red-shirted,  big-hearted  roughs,  and  many  a  com- 
pany had  a  jolly  word  of  welcome  for  Pop's  boys,  who 
more  than  once  had  given  some  favorite  company  first 
notice — "  a  still  alarm" — of  a  blaze,  and  thereby  enabled 
the  "  Zephyrs"  of  61  Hose  or  the  "  Pacifies"  of  28  Engine 
to  be  first  at  the  fire,  getting  a  ''  scoop"  on  their  nearest 
neighbors  of  the  "Lexington"  or  the  "Metamoras,"  for 
every  company  besides  its  number  had  its  name,  and 
every  company,  high  or  low,  its  swarm  of  boy  admirers, 
adherents,  and  followers,  most  of  them,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, street  gamins. 

And  all  this  explanation  as  our  two  youngsters  are 
scooting  through  the  dripping  rain  for  Union  Square. 

As  they  sped  across  Fifth  Avenue  a  long  white  seam 
flashed  into  view  just  beyond  the  Washington  statue. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  29 

and  went  like  a  dim  streak  sailing  away  up  Fourth 
Avenue. 

"There  goes  Twelve  Truck!"  panted  Shorty,  already 
half-winded  in  the  fierce  effort  to  keep  up  Avith  Snipe's 
giant  strides.  "  Seven  Hose  must  be  just  ahead.  Look 
out  for  Twenty-three  now  !" 

Yes,  out  from  Broadway,  as  he  spoke,  a  little  swarm 
of  men  and  boys  on  the  drag-ropes,  another  company 
came,  hauling  a  bulky  little  red  hand-engine,  and  went 
tugging  in  chase  of  the  lighter  hook  and  ladder.  A 
minute's  swift  run  brought  the  youngsters  to  the  open 
square,  another  around  to  the  broad  space  in  front  of 
the  Everett,  and  there  the  misty  atmosphere  grew  heavy 
and  thick,  and  the  swarm  of  scurrying  men  and  boys 
breathed  harder  as  they  plunged  into  a  dense  drift  of 
smoke.  Just  as  our  youngsters  noted  that  the  crowds 
were  running  eastward  through  Nineteenth  Street,  the 
old  rallying  cry  of  another  company  was  heard,  and  a 
light  hose  carriage  came  bounding  across  the  car-tracks 
from  the  direction  of  Broadway.  Snipe  by  this  time 
was  a  dozen  yards  ahead,  and  could  not  hear  or  would 
not  heed  the  half- choking,  warning  cry  of  puffing  Kttle 
Shorty. 

"  Lay  low.  Snipe  ;  that's  the  Metamora.  Look  out — 
look  out  for  the " 

Too  late  !  Half  a  dozen  young  fellows  were  sprinting 
along  beside  their  pet  hose  carriage.  No  more  were 
needed  on  the  ropes,  and  as  Shorty  rounded  the  corner 


30 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


into  Nineteenth  Street  and  saw  the  flames  bursting  from 
the  roof  of  a  stable  close  to  Lexington  Avenue,  he  saw, 
too,  with  bursting  heart,  three  of  those  young  flankers 
spring  up  on  the  sidewalk  in  chase  of  long-limbed  Snipe, 
saw  one  of  them  overtake  him,  lay  sudden  hand  on  his 
shoulder  on  one  side  and  hurl  him  violently  to  the  left, 
just  in  time  to  be  tripped  over  the  tangling  foot  of 
another  and  tumbled  headlong  into  the  reeking  gutter, 
there  to  he,  stunned  and  almost  senseless,  till  Shorty, 
raging,  yet  breathless  and  helpless,  strove  to  lift  his 
bleeding  head  upon  his  knee. 


Almost  senseless,  till  Shorty  strove  to  lift  his  hleediuii-  hi'inl  upon  his  knee. 


CHAPTER    III. 


Bigger  crowds  ran  to  fires,  big  or  little,  in  those  days 
than  now.  The  blaze  which  had  well-nigh  destroyed  an 
old  frame  stable  in  Nineteenth  Street  that  rainy  Satur- 
day afternoon  before  a  single  fire  company  reached  the 
scene,  and  that  drew  to  the  spot  in  the  course  of  half 
an  hour  at  least  twenty  companies, — engine,  hose,  or 
hook  and  ladder, — would  be  handled  now  by  one  com- 
pact little  battalion  with  one-tenth  the  loss,  with  no 
more  than  forty  men,  without  an  unnecessary  sound, 
and  in  much  less  than  half  the  time.  Although  aided 
by  sympathizing  hands.  Shorty  had  barely  time  to  get 
Snipe  on  his  shaky  legs  and  in  the  lee  of  a  sheltering 
tree-box  when  another  company  came  tearing  around 
from  upper  Fourth  Avenue, — their  old  friends  of  Zephyr 
Hose, — close  followed  by  Engine  28,  and  Shorty  lifted 
up  his  voice  in  a  yodel  that  instantly  brought  two  or 
three  panting  young  fellows  to  his  side, — big  boys  who 

31 


32  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

had  run  with  their  pet  company  the  half-mile  from 
Twenty-eighth  Street.  Instant  suspicion,  mingled  with 
wrath,  gleamed  in  their  eyes  at  sight  of  Snipe's  pale 
face  and  bleeding  temple.  "  Yes,  the  Hulker  fellows  !" 
sobbed  Shorty,  now  half  mad  with  indignation  and  ex- 
citement. "  I  saw  just  the  two  that  did  it.  One  of 
them  belongs  to  the  first  nine  of  the  Metamoras, — the 
juniors, — and  had  a  row  with  Snipe  the  day  of  the 
match.  Briggs  was  with  them.  Wait  till  we  tend  to 
Snipe,  then  we  can  fix  him." 

The  youngster's  heart  was  beating  hard  and  savagely, 
for  the  outrage  was  brutal.  There  had  been  angry 
words  between  the  rival  clubs,  the  Uncas  and  the  Meta- 
mora,  the  day  of  their  great  game,  and  hosts  of  other 
juniors  had  gathered  about  the  wrangling  nines,  not 
utterly  displeased  at  the  idea  of  a  falling  out  between 
two  of  the  strongest  and,  as  juniors  went  in  those  days, 
"  swellest"  organizations  on  the  list.  Then,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  several  of  the  older  boys  of  both  clubs 
were  devoted  followers,  even  '^  runners,"  of  two  rival 
hose  companies,  the  Uncas  almost  to  a  man  pinning 
their  fortunes  on  the  white  Zephyr,  whose  home  was 
but  three  short  blocks  above  Pop's  school,  and  one  of 
whose  active  members,  the  son  of  a  Fifth  Avenue  mil- 
lionaire, was  the  biggest  and  oldest — and  stupidest — of 
Pop's  pupils,  though  not  in  the  classical  department. 
The  Metamoras,  in  like  manner,  swore  by  the  swell  hose 
company  of  that  name,  whose  carriage  was  housed  on 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  33 

Fifth  Avenue  itself,  diagonally  over  across  the  way  from 
the  impressively  dignified  and  aristocratic  brownstone 
mansion  of  the  Union  Club,  And  what  Pop's  boys,  the 
First  Latin,  at  least,  were  well-nigh  a  unit  in  condemn- 
ing was  that  just  two  of  their  own  number,  residents 
of  that  immediate  neighborhood,  were  known  to  be  in 
league  with  the  Metamora  crowd,  even  to  the  extent,  it 
was  whispered,  of  secretly  associating  with  the  Hulkers, 
and  by  the  Hulkers  was  meant  a  little  clique  led  by  two 
brothers  of  that  name,  big,  burly  young  fellows  of  nine- 
teen and  eighteen  respectively,  sons  of  a  wealthy  widow, 
who  let  them  run  the  road  to  ruin  and  bountifully  paid 
their  way, — two  young  scapegraces  who  were  not  only 
vicious  and  well-nigh  worthless  themselves,  but  were 
leading  astray  half  a  score  of  others  who  were  fit  for 
better  things.  No  wonder  the  hearts  of  the  Uncas  were 
hot  against  them. 

Into  the  area  doorway  of  a  neighboring  dwelling,  with 
faces  of  gloom,  they  had  led  their  wounded  comrade. 
Sympathizing,  kind-hearted  women  bathed  his  forehead 
and  smoothly  bandaged  it,  even  as  the  uproar  without 
increased,  and  companies  from  far  down-town  kept 
pouring  into  the  crowded  street.  By  this  time  half  a 
dozen  streams  were  on  the  blaze  and  the  black  smoke 
had  turned  to  white  steam,  but  still  they  came,  Gulick 
and  Guardian,  hose  and  engine,  from  under  the  Jefferson 
tower,  and  natty  55  Hose, — the  "  Harry  Howards," — 
from  away  over  near  the  Christopher  ferry,  and  their 


34  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

swell  rivals  of  38,  from  Amity  Street,  close  at  the  heels 
of  Niagara  4,  with  her  l\andsome  Philadelphia  double- 
deck  engine,  and  "  3  Truck,"  from  Fireman's  Hall,  in 
Mercer  Street,  and  another  big  double-decker,  11,  from 
away  down  below  the  Metropolitan  Hotel,  raced  every 
inch  of  the  mile  run  up  Broadway  by  her  east  side  rival, 
Marion  9.  Fancy  the  hundreds  of  shouting,  struggling, 
excited  men  blocking  Lexington  Avenue  and  Eighteenth 
Street  for  two  hundred  yards  in  every  direction  from 
what  we  would  call  to-day  a  "  two-hundred-dollar  fire," 
and  you  can  form  an  idea  of  the  waste  of  time,  money, 
material,  and  energy,  the  access  of  uproar,  confusion, 
and,  ofttimes,  rowdyism,  that  accompanied  an  alarm 
in  the  days  before  the  war.  Remember  that  all  this, 
too,  might  result  from  the  mere  burning  out  of  a  chim- 
ney or  the  ignition  of  a  curtain  in  a  garret  window,  and 
you  can  readily  see  why  tax-payers,  thinking  men,  and 
insurance  companies  finally  decided  that  the  old  volun- 
teer department  must  be  abolished. 

But  until  the  war  came  on  there  was  nothing  half  so 
full  of  excitement  in  the  eyes  of  young  New  York,  and 
Pop's  boys,  many  of  them  at  least,  thought  it  the  biggest 
kind  of  fun  outside  of  school,  where  they  had  fun  of 
their  own  such  as  few  other  boys  saw  the  like  of. 

It  was  inside  the  school,  however,  on  the  following 
Monday  morning,  that  the  young  faces  were  grave  and 
full  of  import,  for  Snipe  was  there,  still  bandaged  and  a 
trifle  pale,  and  Shorty,  scant  of  breath  but  full  of  vim 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  35 

and  descriptives,  and  time  and  again  had  he  to  tell  the 
story  of  the  Hulkers'  attack  to  classmates  who  listened 
with  puckered  brows  and  compressed  lips,  all  the  while 
keeping  an  eye  on  two  black  sheep,  who  followed  with 
furtive  glances  Snipe  and  Shorty  wherever  they  went ; 
and  one  of  these  two  was  the  Pariah  of  the  school. 

The  only  son  of  a  wealthy  broker,  Leonard  Hoover 
at  eighteen  years  of  age  had  every  advantage  that  the 
social  position  of  his  parents  and  a  big  allowance  could 
give  him,  but  he  stood  in  Pop's  school  that  saddest  of 
sights, — a  friendless  boy.  Always  immaculately  dressed 
and  booted  and  gloved,  he  was  a  dullard  in  studies,  a 
braggart  in  everything,  and  a  success  in  nothing.  For 
healthful  sports  and  pastimes  he  had  no  use  whatever. 
Books  were  his  bane,  and  at  eighteen  he  knew  less  of 
Latin  than  boys  in  the  fourth  form,  but  Pop  had  carried 
him  along  for  years,  dropping  him  back  thrice,  it  was 
said  in  school  traditions,  until  at  last  he  had  to  float 
him  with  the  First  Latin,  where  he  sat  week  after  week 
at  the  foot  of  the  class.  It  was  said  that  between  the 
revered  rector  of  the  school  and  the  astute  head  of 
the  firm  of  Hoover,  Hope  &  Co.  a  strong  friendship 
existed,  but  whatever  regard  "  the  Doctor"  entertained 
for  the  father  he  denied  the  son.  Long  years  of  obser- 
vation of  the  young  fellow's  character  had  convinced 
this  shrewd  student  of  boy  nature  that  here  was  a  case 
well-nigh  without  redeeming  feature.  Lazy,  shifty,  lying, 
malevolent,  without  a  good  word  or  kind  thought  for  a 


36  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

human  being,  without  a  spark  of  gratitude  to  the  father 
who  had  pulled  him  through  one  disgrace  after  another, 
and  who  strove  to  buy  him  a  way  through  life,  young 
Hoover  was,  if  truth  were  confessed,  about  as  abhorrent 
to  the  Doctor  as  he  was  obnoxious  to  the  school.  A 
plague,  a  bully,  a  tyrant  to  the  little  fellows  in  the  lower 
classes,  a  cheat  and  coward  among  his  fellows,  filled 
with  mean  jealousy  of  the  lads  who  year  after  year 
stepped  over  his  head  to  the  upper  forms,  stingy  though 
his  pockets  were  lined  with  silver,  sneaking,  for  he  was 
never  known  to  do  or  say  a  straightforward  thing  in  his 
life,  it  had  come  to  pass  by  the  time  he  spent  his  sixth 
year  with  Pop  that  Hoover  was  the  school-boy  synonym 
for  everything  disreputable  or  mean.  And,  as  though 
the  Providence  that  had  endowed  him  through  his  father 
with  everything  that  wealth  and  influence  could  com- 
mand was  yet  determined  to  strike  a  balance  some- 
where, "  Len"  Hoover  had  been  given  a  face  almost  as 
repellent  as  his  nature.  His  little  black  eyes  were  glit- 
tering and  beady,  which  was  bad  enough,  but  in  addi- 
tion were  so  sadly  and  singularly  crossed  that  the  effect 
was  to  distort  their  true  dimensions  and  make  the  right 
optic  appear  larger  and  fuller  than  the  left,  which  at 
times  was  almost  lost  sight  of, — a  strange  defect  that 
even  Pop  had  had  the  weakness  to  satirize,  and,  well 
knowing  that  Hoover  would  never  understand  the 
meaning,  had  in  a  moment  of  unusual  exasperation  re- 
ferred to  him  as  "  Cyclops,"  or  Polyphemus,  a  name 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  37 

that  would  have  held  among  the  boys  had  it  not  been 
too  classical  and  not  sufficiently  contemptuous.  An 
ugly  red  birth-mark  added  to  his  facial  deformity,  but 
what  more  than  anything  else  gave  it  its  baleful  expres- 
sion was  the  sneer  that  never  seemed  to  leave  his  mouth. 
The  grin  that  sometimes,  when  tormenting  a  little  boy, 
distended  that  feature  could  never  by  any  possibility  be 
mistaken  for  a  smile.  Hoover's  white,  slender,  shapely 
hands  were  twitching  and  tremulous.  New  boys,  who 
perhaps  had  to  shake  hands  with  him,  said  they  were 
cold  and  clammy.  He  walked  in  his  high-heeled  boots 
in  a  rickety  way  that  baffled  imitation.  He  never  ran. 
He  never  took  part  in  any  sport  or  game.  He  never 
subscribed  a  cent  to  any  school  enterprise, — base  ball, 
cricket,  excursion,  or  debate.  He  never  even  took  part 
in  the  customary  Christmas  gifts  to  the  teachers,  for  in 
the  days  of  this  class  of  Snipe's  and  Shorty's  and  others 
whose  scholarly  attainments  should  have  won  them  first 
mention,  there  were  some  beloved  men  whom  even  mis- 
chief-loving lads  delighted  to  remember  in  that  way. 
One  Christmas-tide  Hoover  had  appeared  just  before  the 
holiday  break-up,  followed  by  a  servant  in  dark  livery, 
a  thing  seldom  seen  before  the  war,  and  that  servant 
solemnly  bore  half  a  dozen  packages  of  which  Hoover 
relieved  him  one  at  a  time,  and  personally  took  to  the 
desk  of  the  master  in  each  one  of  the  five  rooms,  left  it 
there  without  a  word  of  explanation,  but  with  an  inde- 
scribable grin,  bade  the  servant  hand  the  sixth  to  the 


38  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

open-mouthed  janitor,  and  disappeared.  A  perplexed 
lot  were  Pop's  several  assistants  when  school  closed 
that  afternoon.  John,  the  janitor  aforesaid,  declared 
they  held  an  informal  caucus  in  the  senior  master's  room 
(Othello  was  the  pet  name  borne  at  the  time  by  this 
gifted  teacher  and  later  distinguished  divine),  and  that 
three  of  the  number,  who  had  smilingly  and  gracefully 
thanked  the  boys  for  the  hearty  little  tribute  of  remem- 
brance and  good  will  with  which  the  spokesman  of  the 
class  had  wished  each  master  a  Merry  Christmas,  de- 
clared they  could  accept  no  individual  gift  from  any 
pupil,  much  less  Hoover,  and  that  he,  John,  believed  the 
packages  had  been  returned  unopened. 

And  this  was  the  state  of  feeling  at  the  old  school 
towards  its  oldest  scholar,  in  point  of  years  spent  be- 
neath its  roof,  on  the  bleak  November  morning  following 
Snipe's  and  Shorty's  disastrous  run  to  the  fire,  when  at 
twelve  o'clock  the  First  Latin  came  tumbling  down-stairs 
for  recess.  Ordinarily  they  went  with  a  rush,  bounding 
and  jostling  and  playing  all  manner  of  pranks  on  each 
other  and  making  no  end  of  noise,  then  racing  for  dough- 
nuts at  Duncan's,  two  blocks  away.  But  this  time  there 
was  gravity  and  deliberation,  an  ominous  silence  that 
Avas  sufficient  in  itself  to  tell  the  head-master,  even  be- 
fore he  noted  the  fact  that  Hoover  was  lingering  in  the 
school-room  instead  of  sneaking  off  solus  for  a  smoke  at 
a  neighboring  stable,  that  something  of  an  unusual  nature 
was  in  the  wind. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  39 

"Why  don't  you  go  out  to  recess,  Hoover?"  said  he, 
shortly.     "  If  any  lad  needs  fresh  air,  it's  you," 

No  answer  for  a  moment.  Hoover  stood  shuffling 
uneasily  at  the  long  window  looking  out  on  Fourth 
Avenue,  every  now  and  then  peering  up  and  down  the 
street. 

Impatiently  the  master  repeated  his  question,  and 
then,  sullen  and  scowling,  Hoover  answered, — 

"  I  can  have  trouble  enough — here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Othello. 

"  They're  layin'  for  me, — at  least  Snipe  is." 

"  By  Snipe  you  mean  Lawton,  I  suppose.  What's  the 
trouble  between  you?"  and  the  master  sat  grimly  eying 
the  ill-favored  fellow. 

"  It's  not  a  thing — I  want  to  speak  of,"  was  the  an- 
swer. "  He  knows  that  I  know  things  that  he  can't 
afford  to  have  get  out, — that's  all."  Then,  turning  sud- 
denly, "  Mr.  Halsey,"  said  he,  "  there's  things  going  on 
in  this  school  the  Doctor  ought  to  know.  I  can't  tell 
him  or  tell  you,  but  you — you  ask  John  where  Joy's 
watch  went  and  how  it  got  there." 

The  master  started,  and  his  dark  face  grew  darker 
still.  That  business  of  Joy's  watch  had  been  the  scan- 
dal of  the  school  all  October.  Joy  was  one  of  the 
leaders  of  the  First  Latin,  a  member  of  one  of  the 
oldest  families  of  Gotham,  and  this  watch  was  a  beau- 
tiful and  costly  thing  that  had  been  given  him  on  his 
birthday  the  year  before.     One  hot  Friday  noon  when 


40  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  school  went  out  to  recess,  Joy  came  running  back 
up  the  stairs  from  the  street  below  and  began  search- 
ing eagerly  about  the  bookcases  at  the  back  of  the 
long  school-room.  A  pale-faced  junior  master  sat  mop- 
ping the  sweat  from  his  forehead,  for  the  First  Latin 
had  executed  its  famous  charge  but  two  minutes  before, 
and  he  had  striven  in  vain  to  quell  the  tumult. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Joy  ?"  he  asked,  "  I  beg  pardon. 
Mr.  Joy,  I  should  say.  I  wonder  that  I  am  so  forgetful 
as  to  speak  to  a  young  gentleman  in  the  First  Latin  as  I 
would  to  boys  in  the  other  forms  in  the  school." 

At  other  times  when  the  weakling  who  had  so  spoken 
gave  voice  to  this  sentiment  it  was  the  conventional 
thing  for  the  First  Latin  to  gaze  stolidly  at  him  and,  by 
way  of  acknowledgment  of  the  sentiment,  to  utter  a 
low,  moaning  sound,  like  that  of  a  beast  in  pain,  grad- 
ually rising  to  a  dull  roar,  then  dying  away  to  a  murmur 
again,  accentuated  occasionally  here  and  there  by  deep 
gutturals,  "  Hoi !  hoi !  hoi !"  and  in  this  inarticulate 
chorus  was  Joy  ever  the  fugleman.  But  now,  with 
troubled  eyes,  he  stared  at  the  master. 

*'  My  watch  is  gone,  sir !" 

"  Gone,  Mr.  Joy?  You  terrify  me  !"  said  Mr.  Meeker, 
whose  habit  it  was  to  use  exaggerated  speech.  "  When 
— and  how?" 

"  While  we  were — having  that  scrimmage  just  now," 
answered  Joy,  searching  about  the  floor  and  the  benches. 
"  I  had  it — looked  at  it — not  two  minutes  before  the  bell 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  41 

struck.     You  may  remember,  sir,  you  bade  me  put  it 
up." 

"  I  do  remember.  And  when  did  you  first  miss  it  ?" 
"  Before  we  got  across  Twenty-fifth  Street,  sir." 
By  this  time,  with  sympathetic  faces,  back  came  Carey 
and  Doremus  and  Bertram  and  others  of  the  First 
Latin,  and  John,  the  janitor,  stood  at  the  door  and 
looked  on  with  puzzled  eyes.  It  was  not  good  for  him 
that  valuables  should  be  lost  at  any  time  about  the 
school.  All  four  young  fellows  searched,  but  there  was 
no  sign.  From  that  day  to  this  Joy  had  seen  no  more 
of  his  beautiful  watch.  Detectives  had  sought  in  vain. 
Pawn-shops  were  ransacked.  The  Doctor  had  offered 
reward  and  Mr.  Meeker,  the  master,  his  resignation,  but 
neither  was  accepted. 

And  now  Hoover,  the  uncanny,  had  declared  he  had 
information.  It  was  still  over  an  hour  before  the  Doctor 
could  be  expected  down  from  his  morning's  work  at  Co- 
lumbia. The  head-master  felt  his  fingers  tingling  and 
his  pulses  quicken.  He  himself  had  had  a  theory — a 
most  unpleasant  one — with  regard  to  the  disappearance 
of  that  precious  watch.  He  knew  his  face  was  paling 
as  he  rose  and  backed  the  downcast,  slant-eyed  youth 
against  the  window-casing. 

"  Hoover,"  said  he,  "  I've  known  you  seven  years,  and 
will  have  no  dodging.     Tell  me  what  you  know." 

"  I — I — don't  know  anything,  sir,"  was  the  answer, 
"  but  you  ask  John.     He  does." 


42  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  Stay  where  you  are !"  cried  the  master,  as  he  stepped 
to  his  desk  and  banged  the  gong-bell  that  stood  thereon. 
A  lumbering  tread  was  heard  on  the  stairway,  and  a 
red-faced,  shock-headed  young  man  came  clumsily  into 
the  room.  Mr.  Halsey  collared  him  without  ado  and 
shoved  him  up  alongside  Hoover.  He  had  scant  rever- 
ence for  family  rank  and  name,  had  Halsey.  In  his 
eyes  hulking  John  and  sullen  Hoover  were  about  on 
a  par,  with  any  appreciable  odds  in  favor  of  the  jan- 
itor. 

"  Hoover  tells  me  you  know  where  Joy's  watch  went 
and  who  took  it.     Out  with  the  story  !"  demanded  he. 

"  I  d-don't,"  mumbled  John,  in  alarm  and  distress. 
"  I — I  only  said  that — there  was  more'n  one  could  tell 
where  it  went."  And  then,  to  Mr.  Halsey's  amaze  and 
disgust,  the  janitor  fairly  burst  into  tears.  For  two  or 
three  minutes  his  uncouth  shape  was  shaken  by  sobs 
of  unmistakable  distress.  Halsey  vainly  tried  to  check 
him,  and  angrily  demanded  explanation  of  this  woman- 
ish conduct.  At  last  John  seemed  about  to  speak,  but 
at  that  moment  Hoover,  with  shaking  hand,  grabbed  the 
master's  arm  and  muttered,  •'  Mr.  Halsey, — not  now !" 

Following  the  frightened  glance  of  those  shifting  eyes, 
Halsey  whirled  and  looked  towards  the  stairs.  Then, 
with  almost  indignant  question  quivering  on  his  lips, 
turned  angrily  on  the  pair.  With  a  queer  expression  on 
his  white  and  bandaged  face.  Snipe  Lawton  stood  gazing 
at  them  from  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


That  famous  charge  of  the  First  Latin  is  something 
that  must  be  explained  before  this  school  story  can  go 
much  further.  To  begin  with,  one  has  to  understand  the 
"  lay  of  the  land,"  or  rather  the  plan  of  the  school-room. 
Almost  every  boy  knows  how  these  buildings  facing  on 
a  broad  business  thoroughfare  are  arranged : — four  or 
five  stories  high,  thirty  or  forty  or  fifty  feet  front,  ac- 
cording to  the  size  of  the  lot,  perhaps  one  hundred  to 
two  hundred  deep,  with  the  rooms  from  basement  to 
attic  all  about  of  a  size  unless  partitioned  off  on  different 
lines.  In  the  days  whereof  we  write  Pop  had  his  famous 
school  in  the  second  and  third  floors  of  one  of  these 
stereotyped  blocks.  Two-thirds  of  the  second  floor  front 
was  given  up  to  one  big  room.  A  high  wooden  partition, 
glazed  at  the  top  and  pierced  with  two  doors,  divided 
this,  the  main  school-room,  from  two  smaller  ones  where 
the  Third  and  Fourth  Latin  wrestled  with  their  verbs 

and  declensions  and  gazed  out  through  the  long  rear 

43 


44  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

windows  over  a  block  of  back-yards  and  fences.  Aloft 
on  the  third  floor  were  the  rooms  of  the  masters  of  the 
junior  forms  in  English,  mathematics,  writing,  etc.  But 
it  is  with  the  second,  the  main  floor  and  the  main  room  on 
that  floor,  that  we  have  to  do.  This  was  the  home  of  the 
First  Latin.  It  was  bare  as  any  school-room  seen  abroad, 
very  nearly.  Its  furniture  was  inexpensive,  but  sufficient. 
A  big  stove  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  long  apartment, 
and  some  glazed  bookcases  between  the  west  windows 
and  against  the  south  wall  at  the  west  end.  A  closet, 
sacred  to  Pop,  was  built  against  the  north  wall  west  of 
the  stairway,  which  was  shut  off  by  a  high  wooden  par- 
tition, reaching  to  the  ceiling.  A  huge  coat-rack  stood 
in  the  southeast  corner.  A  big  open  bookcase,  divided 
off  into  foot  square  boxes  for  each  boy's  books,  occu- 
pied the  northeast  corner,  with  its  back  against  the 
northward  wall.  Six  or  seven  benches  abutting  nearly 
end  to  end  were  strung  along  the  south  side,  extending 
from  the  west  windows  almost  to  the  coat-rack,  the  far- 
thermost bench  being  at  an  obtuse  angle.  The  book- 
box,  doors,  and  partitions  were  painted  a  cheerful  lead 
color,  the  benches  a  deep  dark  green.  So  much  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  lads.  Now  for  their  masters. 
On  a  square  wooden  dais,  back  to  the  light,  was  perched 
the  stained  pine  desk  at  which  from  one-thirty  to  three 
each  afternoon  sat  glorified  Pop.  Boy  nor  man  ventured 
to  assume  that  seat  at  other  time,  save  when  that  front, 
hke  Jove,  gleamed  above  the  desk  to  threaten  and  com- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  45 

mand,  and  the  massive  proportions,  clad  in  glossy  broad- 
clotli  of  scholarly  black,  settled  into  the  capacious  depths 
of  that  wicker-bottomed  chair.  In  front  of  the  desk,  six 
feet  away,  the  low  stove,  so  often  seasoned  with  Cayenne 
pepper,  warmed  the  apartment,  but  obstructed  not  his 
view.  At  an  equal  distance  beyond  the  stove  was  the 
table  at  which  from  nine  a.m.  to  three  p.m.  sat  the  master 
in  charge  of  the  room,  and  thereby  hung  many  and  many 
a  tale.  It  was  a  great  big,  flat- topped  table,  covered  with 
shiny  black  oilcloth,  slightly  padded,  and  was  so  hol- 
lowed out  on  the  master's  side  that  it  encompassed  him 
round  about  like  some  modern  boom  defence  against  tor- 
pedo attack,  and  many  a  time  that  defence  was  needed. 
From  the  instant  of  the  Doctor's  ponderous  appearance 
at  the  door  law  and  disciplined  order  prevailed  within 
this  scholastic  sanctuary,  but  of  all  the  bear-gardens  ever 
celebrated  in  profane  history  it  was  the  worst  during  the 
one  hour  in  which,  each  day  from  eleven  to  twelve,  Mr. 
Meeker  imparted  to  the  First  Latin  his  knowledge  of  the 
higher  mathematics  and  endeavored  to  ascertain  what,  if 
any,  portion  thereof  lodged  long  enough  to  make  even  a 
passing  impression  on  the  minds  of  that  graceless  assem- 
bly. There  were  other  hours  during  which  the  spirit  of 
mischief  had  its  sway.  There  were  other  masters  who 
found  that  First  Latin  an  assemblage  of  youths  who 
made  them  wonder  why  the  Doctor  had,  after  long,  long 
years  of  observance,  finally  banished  forever  the  system 
of  punishment  which  was  of  the  breech — the  vis  a  tergo 


46  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

order,  that  was  the  mainstay  of  grammar-school  disci- 
pline in  Columbia's  proud  past ;  but  it  was  left  to  Mr. 
Meeker  to  enjoy  as  did  no  other  man  the  full  develop- 
ment of  a  capacity  for  devilment,  a  rapacity  for  mischief 
never  equalled  in  the  annals  of  the  school. 

Whenever  the  class  was  formed  for  recitation  it  took 
seats  on  those  northward-facing  benches,  the  head  of 
the  class  in  a  chair,  with  his  back  to  the  avenue  window, 
close  by  the  westernmost  bench.  The  others  of  the 
"  Sacred  Band,"  as  that  guileful  First  Latin  had  once 
been  derisively  named,  strung  out  in  the  order  of  their 
class  rank  along  the  benches,  with  Hoover,  nine  times 
out  of  ten,  alone  at  the  bottom.  The  system  of  reci- 
tation was  peculiar  to  the  school,  and  proved  that  the 
"  copious  notes,"  so  often  scornfully,  yet  enviously,  re- 
ferred to  by  outsiders,  were  only  blessings  in  disguise. 
It  might  be  that  Virgil  was  the  subject  of  the  hour,  the 
lesson  say  some  fifty  lines  in  the  third  book,  and  in  this 
event  Beach,  not  Meeker,  was  in  the  chair,  a  man  of 
firmer  mould,  yet  not  invulnerable.  One  after  another, 
haphazard,  the  youngsters  were  called  upon  to  read, 
scan,  translate,  and  at  the  very  first  slip  in  quantity, 
error  in  scanning,  mistake  of  a  word  in  translation,  the 
master  would  cry  "  Next,"  and  the  first  boy  below  who 
could  point  out  the  error  and  indicate  the  correction 
stepped  up  and  took  his  place  above  the  fellow  at  fault. 
A  perfect  recitation  was  a  rarity  except  among  the  keen 
leaders  at  the  head,  for  no  error,  big  or  little,  was  ever 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  47 

let  pass.  It  was  no  easy  thing  for  the  average  boy  to 
read  three  hnes  of  the  resounding  dactyhc  hexameters 
of  "  P.  Virgihus  Maro"  according  to  the  Columbia  system 
of  the  day  without  a  slip  in  quantity.  Scanning,  too, 
was  an  art  full  of  traps  for  the  unwary,  but  hardest  of 
all  for  one  of  Pop's  boys  was  it  to  translate.  No  mat- 
ter how  easy  it  might  be  by  the  aid  of  the  oft-consulted 
"  pony"  to  turn  the  Latin  into  English,  it  was  the  rule 
of  the  school  that  the  Doctor's  own  beautiful  rendition 
should  be  memorized  word  for  word  wherever  it  oc- 
curred, and  the  instances,  like  the  notes,  were  all  too 
copious.  At  the  word  "  Enough"  that  checked  his  scan- 
ning the  boy  began  to  translate,  and  having  given  the 
poetic  and  flowery  version  of  the  great  translator,  then 
turned  to  and,  word  by  word,  followed  with  the  literal 
meaning.  Then  came  the  prodding  questions  as  to  root, 
verb,  subject,  etc.,  and  lucky  was  the  youngster  who, 
when  he  took  his  seat,  found  himself  no  more  than  half 
a  dozen  places  below  where  he  started.  At  the  end  of 
the  hour  the  marks  were  totted  up,  and  he  who  had  the 
highest  number  marched  to  the  head  of  the  class,  the 
others  being  assigned  according  to  their  score.  It  was 
all  plain  sailing  when  the  Doctor  himself  was  in  the 
chair.  Few  boys  ventured  on  fun  with  him.  On  the 
other  hand,  few  other  masters  could  maintain  order  on  a 
system  that  gave  such  illimitable  possibilities  for  devil- 
ment. To  illustrate :  It  is  a  brisk  October  morning. 
School  has  "  been  in"  an  hour.     The  First  Latin  is  ar- 


48  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

rayed  for  recitation  in  the  ^Eneid,  and  the  boys  have 
easily  induced  an  Italian  organ-grinder  to  come,  monkey 
and  all,  to  serenade  them,  and  to  the  lively  notes  of 
"  Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning"  one  of  the  confirmed 
scamps  of  the  class  is  called  upon  to  begin.  He  himself 
was  the  heaviest  subscriber  to  the  fund  which  secured 
the  services  of  the  dark-eyed  exile  and  his  agile  mon- 
key. Bliss  knows  nothing  whatever  of  the  lesson  and 
is  praying  for  the  appearance  of  the  red-capped  simian 
at  the  window.  The  janitor  has  been  sent  down  to  bid 
the  organ-grinder  go  away,  but  the  boys  have  blocked 
that  game  by  bidding  higher,  and  the  Italian  is  warned 
to  pay  no  attention  to  such  orders,  but  to  hold  his  ground, 
— the  neighborhood  approves  of  him  and  he'll  be  short 
a  quarter  if  he  goes.  John  comes  panting  up-stairs  to 
report  his  ill  success,  and  meantime  the  recitation  can- 
not go  on.  Bliss  is  finally  told  to  pay  no  attention  to 
"  Patrick's  Day"  and  to  push  ahead  on  the  most  beautiful 
lines  in  the  book, 

"  Non  ignara  mali.  miseris  succerere  disco" 

and  Bliss  slips  on  the  quantity  of  the  first  syllable  of  the 
third  word,  is  promptly  snapped  up  by  Doremus,  next 
below,  who  tallies  one  on  his  score  and  jumps  above 
him.  Bliss  shuts  his  book  despairingly.  "  Mr.  Beach," 
he  begins,  in  tones  of  deepest  injury,  "  I  know  that  just 
as  well  as  anybody  else ;  but  I  protest,  sir,  I'm  so  dis- 
tracted by  that  grinding  I  can't  do  myself  justice — or  the 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  49 

subject  either."  And  if  the  astute  Beach  had  any  Un- 
gering  doubt  as  to  whether  the  boys  worked  that  game 
themselves  or  not  the  doubt  is  banished  now.  Ber- 
tram, Doremus,  Snipe,  Shorty,  all  are  on  their  feet  and 
pleading  with  the  master  to  have  that  impudent  music 
stopped.  Mr.  Beach  vainly  warns  them  to  their  seats 
and  commands  silence. 

"  Mr.  Beach,  let  me  go  down  and  drive  him  away, — I 
can  do  it,"  implores  Beekman,  the  pigmy  Gothamite. 
It  is  three  minutes  before  the  master  can  compel  silence 
in  the  class,  so  great  is  its  sense  of  the  outrage  upon  its 
peace  and  dignity. 

"  Mr.  Beach,  let  me  fetch  a  poHceman,"  cries  Shorty, 
who  knows  there  isn't  a  blue-coat  nearer  than  the  Har- 
lem depot  at  TAventy-sixth  Street,  and  is  spoiling  for  a 
chance  to  get  out-of-doors. 

"The  next  boy  who  speaks  until  bidden  will  have  five 
marks  struck  off,"  says  Beach,  and  with  one  accord  the 
First  Latin  opens  its  twenty-seven  mouths,  even  Hoover 
swelling  the  chorus,  and,  as  though  so  many  representa- 
tives in  Congress  assembled  were  hailing  the  chair,  the 
twenty-seven  ejaculate,  "  Mr.  Beach,  nobody's  got  five 
yet."  Then  little  Post  jumps  up,  in  affected  horror,  and 
runs  from  his  seat  half-way  to  the  master's  table.  "  Mr. 
Beach  !"  he  cries,  "  the  monkey  !" 

"Aw,  sit  down.  Post,"  protests  Joy,  in  the  interest 
of  school  discipline  and  harmony.  "  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself  making  such  a  fuss  about  a  mon- 


50  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

key."  Snipe  and  Carey  seize  the  first  weapons  obtain- 
able— the  sacred  ruler  and  the  Japan  tray  on  the  Doctor's 
desk — and  make  a  lunge  for  the  windows. 

"Lawton — Carey!  Back  to  your  seats!"  orders 
Beach. 

"  We  only  want  to  drive  the  monkey  away,  sir,"  pro- 
tests Snipe,  with  imploring  eyes.  "  Post'll  have  a  fit, 
sir,  if  you  let  the  monkey  stay.  He's  subject  to  'em. 
Ain't  you,  Post?" 

''Yes,  sir,"  eagerly  protests  Post,  on  the  swear-to- 
anything  principle  when  it's  a  case  of  school  devilment, 
and  two  minutes  more  are  consumed  in  getting  those 
scamps  back  to  their  places  and  recording  their  fines, 
"  Ten  marks  apiece,"  which  means  that  when  the  day's 
reckoning  is  made  ten  units  will  be  deducted  from  their 
total  score.  The  settlement,  too,  is  prolonged  and  com- 
plicated through  the  ingenuity  of  Snipe  and  the  conni- 
vance of  Bagshot  and  Bertram,  who  have  promptly 
moved  up  and  occupied  the  place  vacated  by  their  long- 
legged,  curly-pated,  brown-eyed  comrade,  and  who  now 
sturdily  maintain  that  Snipe  doesn't  know  where  he  be- 
longs. As  a  matter  of  fact,  Snipe  doesn't ;  neither  does 
he  greatly  care.  He's  merely  insisting  on  the  customary 
frolic  before  the  class  settles  down  to  business,  but  to 
see  the  fine  indignation  in  his  handsome  face  and  listen 
to  the  volume  of  protest  on  his  tongue  you  would  fancy 
his  whole  nature  was  enlisted  in  the  vehement  assertion 
of  his  riohts. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  5I 

Mr.  Beach  fines  Snipe  another  five  for  losing  his  place, 
and  then  stultifies  himself  by  ordering  Bertram  and  Bag- 
shot  back  to  their  original  station,  thus  permitting  Snipe 
to  resume  his  seat,  whereupon  he  promptly  claims  the 
remission  of  the  fine  on  the  ground  that  he  himself  had 
found  it,  and  Bertram,  a  youth  of  much  dignity  of  de- 
meanor, gravely  addresses  Mr.  Beach,  and  protests  that 
in  the  interests  of  decency  and  discipline  Lawton  should 
forfeit  his  place,  and  to  prove  his  entire  innocence  of 
selfish  motive  offers  to  leave  it  to  the  class,  and  go  to 
the  foot  himself  if  they  decide  against  him,  and  the 
class  shouts  approval  and  urges  the  distracted  Beach 
to  put  Snipe  out  forthwith.  Then  somebody  signals 
"  Hush  !"  for  Halsey,  the  head-master,  the  dark  Othello, 
has  scented  mischief  from  afar,  and  is  heard  coming 
swiftly  down  from  the  floor  above,  and  Halsey  is  a  man 
who  has  his  own  joke  but  allows  no  others.  Bliss  is  the 
only  boy  on  his  feet  as  the  stern  first  officer  enters  and 
glances  quickly  and  suspiciously  about  him. 

"  Go  on  with  the  recitation,  Mr.  Beach,"  he  says. 
"  That  Italian  was  doubtless  hired  by  these  young  gen- 
tlemen. Let  them  dance  to  their  own  music  now,  the 
eloquent  Bliss  in  the  lead.  Go  on  with  your  lines, 
Bliss." 

And  as  this  is  just  what  Bliss  can't  do,  Bliss  is 
promptly  "  flunked"  and  sent  to  the  foot,  where  Hoover 
grins  sardonically.  He's  ahead  of  one  fellow  anyhow. 
Just  so  long  now  as  that  organ-grinder  does  must  Halsey 


52  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

stay — and  supervise,  and  scorch  even  the  best  scholars 
in  the  class,  for  well  he  knows  the  First  Latin  and  they 
him,  and  their  respect  for  him  is  deeper  than  his  for 
them,  despite  the  known  fact  that  Pop  himself  looks 
upon  them  with  more  than  partial  eyes.  The  class  is 
getting  the  worst  of  it  when  in  comes  an  opportune 
small  boy,  "Mr.  Meeker  says  will  Mr.  Halsey  please 
step  into  the  Fourth  Latin  room  a  minute,"  and  Halsey 
has  to  go. 

"  If  those  young  gentlemen  give  you  any  trouble,  Mr. 
Beach,  keep  the  whole  class  in  at  recess,"  he  says,  and 
thereupon,  with  eyes  of  saddest  reproach,  the  class  fol- 
lows him  to  the  door,  as  though  to  say,  How  can  such 
injustice  live  in  mind  so  noble  ?  But  the  moment  Halsey 
vanishes  the  gloom  goes  with  him.  Beach's  eyes  are  on 
the  boys  at  the  foot  of  the  class,  and  with  a  batter  and 
bang  the  Japan  tray  on  the  Doctor's  desk  comes  settling 
to  the  floor,  while  Joy,  who  dislodged  it,  looks  straight 
into  the  master's  startled  eyes  with  a  gaze  in  which  con- 
scious innocence,  earnest  appeal,  utter  disapprobation  of 
such  silly  pranks,  all  are  pictured.  Joy  can  whip  the 
bell  out  from  under  the  master's  nose  and  over  the 
master's  table  and  all  the  time  look  imploringly  into  the 
master's  eyes,  as  though  to  say,  "  Just  heaven  !  do  you 
believe  me  capable  of  such  disrespect  as  that?"  Three 
boys  precipitate  themselves  upon  the  precious  waiter, 
eager  to  restore  it  to  its  place,  and  bang  their  heads  to- 
gether in  the  effort.     Five  marks  off  for  Shorty,  Snipe, 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD,  53 

and  Post.  Bagshot  is  on  the  floor,  and  announces  as 
the  sense  of  the  First  Latin  that  a  boy  who  would  do 
such  a  thing  should  be  expelled.  Mr.  Beach  says  the 
First  Latin  hasn't  any  sense  to  speak  of,  and  tells  Bagshot 
to  begin  where  he  left  off.  Bagshot  thereupon  declares 
he  can't  remember.  It's  getting  near  the  "business 
end"  of  the  hour,  and  the  whole  class  has  to  look  to  its 
marks,  so  it  can't  all  be  fun.  Thereupon  Beach,  who  is 
nothing  if  not  classical,  refers  to  Bagshot's  lack  of  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Goddess  of  Memory,  "  Who  was 
she,  Bagshot  ?"  "  Mnemosyne."  "  Very  good  ;  yes,  sir." 
("Thought  it  was  Bacchante!"  shouts  little  Beekman. 
"No,  sir.  Five  marks  off,  Beekman.  No  more  from 
you,  sir.")  "  Now,  Bagshot,  you  should  be  higher  than 
ten  in  your  class  to-day,  and  would  be  but  for  misbe- 
havior. What  was  the  color  of  Mnemosyne's  hair?" 
Bagshot  glares  about  him  irresolute,  and  tries  the  doc- 
trine of  probability. 

"Red!" 

Beach  compresses  his  lips.  "  M — n — no.  That  hardly 
describes  it.     Next." 

"  Carnation,"  hazards  Van  Kleeck. 

"  Next !  Next !  Next !"  says  Beach,  indicating  with 
his  pencil  one  after  another  of  the  eager  rank  of  boys, 
and,  first  one  at  a  time  and  distinctly,  then  in  confused 
tumbling  over  each  other's  syllables,  the  wiseacres  of 
the  class  shout  their  various  guesses. 

"  Vermilion !" 


54  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  Scarlet !" 

"  Carrot  color !" 

"  Solferino !"     • 

"  Magenta !" 

"  Pea-green !" 

"  Sky-blue !" 

"  Brick-red !"  (This  last  from  Turner,  who  makes  a 
bolt  for  a  place  above  Bagshot,  and  can  only  be  driven 
back  and  convinced  of  the  inadequacy  of  his  answer  by 
liberal  cuttings  of  ten  to  twenty  marks.)  Then,  at  last. 
Beach  turns  to  Carey,  at  the  far  head  of  the  class,  and 
that  gifted  young  gentleman  drawls, — 

"  Fl-a-a-me  color.'' 

"  Right !"  says  the  master,  whereupon  half  a  dozen 
contestants  from  below  spring  to  their  feet,  with  indig- 
nation in  their  eyes : 

"Well,  what  did  I  say,  sir?" 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  meant,  sir." 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  Bliss  if  that  wasn't  my  answer,  sir." 

And  nothing  but  the  reappearance  of  Othello  puts  an 
end  to  the  clamor  and  settles  the  claimants.  Shorty 
submits  that  his  answer  covered  the  case,  that  Mne- 
mosyne herself  couldn't  tell  carrot  color  from  flame, 
and  is  sure  the  Doctor  would  declare  his  answer  right, 
but  is  summarily  squelched  by  Mr.  Halsey,  and  he  has 
the  "  moms"  to  make  no  reference  to  the  matter  when 
the  Doctor  comes.  The  hour  is  nearly  over.  Only 
three  minutes  are  allowed  them  in  which  to  stow  their 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  55 

Virgils  in  the  big  open  bookcase  and  extract  their  alge- 
bras. Halsey  vanishes  to  see  to  it  that  the  Third  Latin 
goes  to  the  writing-room  without  mobbing  the  Fourth. 
The  marks  of  the  First  are  recorded,  not  without  a  vol- 
ume of  comment  and  chaff  and  protest.  Then  silence 
settles  down  as  the  master  begins  giving  out  the  next 
day's  lesson,  for  the  word  has  been  passed  along  the 
line  of  benches,  "  Get  ready  for  a  charge !"  A  mo- 
ment later  the  janitor  sounds  the  bell  on  the  landing 
without,  and  twenty-six  young  fellows  spring  into  air 
and  rush  for  the  bookcase.  Not  a  word  is  spoken, — 
Hoover,  alone,  holds  aloof, — but  in  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  tell  it,  with  solemnity  on  every  face  except  one 
or  two  that  will  bubble  over  in  excess  of  joy,  the  First 
Latin  is  jammed  in  a  scrimmage  such  as  one  sees  now- 
adays only  on  the  football  field.  The  whole  living  mass 
heaves  against  those  stout  partitions  till  they  bend  and 
crack.  From  the  straining,  struggling  crew  there  rises 
the  same  moaning  sound,  swelling  into  roar  and  dying 
away  into  murmur,  and  at  last  the  lustier  fight  their  way 
out,  algebras  in  hand,  and  within  another  five  minutes 
order  is  apparently  evolved  from  chaos. 

In  such  a  turmoil  and  in  such  a  charge  Joy's  watch 
disappeared  that  October  day,  and  the  school  had  not 
stopped  talking  of  it  yet. 

It  has  been  said  that  two  boys  were  the  observed  of 
gloomy  eyes  the  Monday  following  Snipe's  misfortune. 
One,  Hoover,  of  course.     The  other  a  fellow  who  in 


5Q  FROM   SCHOOL  TO    BATTLE-FIELD. 

turn  had  sought  to  be  everybody's  chum  and  had 
ended  by  being  nobody's.  His  name  was  Briggs.  He 
was  a  big,  powerful  fellow,  freckle-faced,  sandy-haired, 
and  gifted  with  illimitable  effrontery.  He  was  a  boy  no 
one  liked  and  no  one  could  snub,  for  Briggs  had  a  skin 
as  thick  as  the  sole  of  a  school-boy's  boot,  and  needed 
it.  One  circumstance  after  another  during  the  previous 
year  had  turned  one  boy  after  another  from  him,  but 
Briggs  kept  up  every  appearance  of  cordial  relations, 
even  with  those  who  cold-shouldered  him  and  would 
have  naught  to  do  with  him.  During  the  previous 
school-year  he  had  several  times  followed  Snipe,  Shorty, 
and  their  particular  set,  only  to  find  that  they  Avould 
scatter  sooner  than  have  him  one  of  the  party.  He 
had  been  denied  admission  to  the  houses  of  most  of  the 
class.  He  had  been  twice  blackballed  by  the  Uncas, 
and  it  was  said  by  many  of  the  school  Avhen  Briggs 
began  to  consort  with  Hoover  that  he  had  at  last  found 
his  proper  level.  One  allegation  at  his  expense  the 
previous  year  had  been  that  he  was  frequently  seen  at 
billiard-rooms  or  on  the  streets  with  those  two  Hulkers, 
and  even  Hoover  had  hitherto  eschewed  that  associa- 
tion. Perhaps  at  first  the  Hulkers  would  not  have 
Hoover.  The  class  couldn't  tell  and  really  didn't  care 
to  know.  One  thing  was  certain :  within  the  fortnight 
preceding  the  opening  of  this  story  Briggs  and  Hoover 
had  been  together  more  than  a  little  and  with  the 
Hulkers  more  than  enousrh. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  57 

"Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say?"  both  Carey  and 
Joy  had  asked  Shorty  that  exciting  Monday  morning,  as 
the  eager  youngster  detailed  for  the  tenth  time  the  inci- 
dents of  the  assault  on  Snipe. 

"  Tm  as  sure  of  it  as  I  am  of  the  fire,"  said  Shorty, 
positively.  "  Jim  Briggs  was  with  the  Metamora  crowd, 
running  in  the  street.  He  looked  back  and  laughed 
after  he  saw  Snipe  down." 

But  when  confronted  with  this  statement  by  the  elders 
of  the  "  Sacred  Band"  Briggs  promptly  and  indignantly 
denied  it. 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  till  to-day  !"  said  he.  "  'Spose 
I'd  stand  by  and  see  one  of  my  class  knocked  endwise 
by  a  lot  of  roughs  ?     No,  sir !" 

It  was  a  question  of  veracity,  then,  between  Briggs 
and  Shorty,  the  class  believing  the  latter,  but  being 
unable  to  prove  the  case.  Snipe  himself  could  say 
nothing.  Being  in  the  lead,  he  had  seen  none  of  the 
runners  of  the  Metamora  except  the  heels  of  a  few 
as  they  bounded  over  him  when  he  rolled  into  the 
street.  There  was  an  intense  feeling  smouldering  in  the 
class.  They  were  indeed  "  laying"  for  Hoover  as  they 
had  been  for  Briggs  when  they  tumbled  out  for  recess. 
The  latter,  with  his  characteristic  vim  and  effrontery, 
denied  all  knowledge  of  the  affair,  as  has  been  said,  and 
challenged  the  class  to  prove  a  thing  against  him.  The 
former,  as  has  been  told,  lurked  within-doors.  What 
had  he  to  fear  ?    He  was  not  at  the  scene  of  the  fire  and 


58  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  assault.  He  never  had  energy  enough  to  run.  There 
was  some  reason  why  he  shrank  from  meeting  or  being 
questioned  by  the  boys.  There  was  some  reason  why 
Snipe  Lawton  should  have  left  them  and  returned  to  the 
school,  and  was  discovered  standing  there  at  the  door- 
way, looking  fixedly  at  the  head-master's  angered  face 
as  it  glowered  on  Hoover  and  the  tearful  John.  What- 
ever the  reason,  it  could  not  well  be  divulged  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Halsey.  Hoover  stood  off  another  pro- 
posed demonstration  in  his  honor  after  school  at  three 
o'clock  by  remaining  behind,  and  only  coming  forth  when 
he  could  do  so  under  the  majestic  wing  of  the  Doctor 
himself.  Pop  looked  curiously  at  the  knots  of  lingering 
First  Latins,  and  raised  his  high-top  hat  in  response  to 
their  salutations.  Hoover  huddled  close  to  his  side  until 
several  blocks  were  traversed  and  pursuit  was  aban- 
doned. Then  he  shot  into  a  street-car,  leaving  the 
Doctor  to  ponder  on  the  unusual  attention.  And  so  it 
happened  that  while  the  class  was  balked  for  the  time 
of  its  purpose,  and  the  victim  of  Saturday's  assault  was 
debarred  from  making  the  queries  he  had  planned,  Mr. 
Halsey  was  enabled  to  pursue  his  bent.  Just  as  the 
little  group  of  five,  gazing  in  disappointment  up  the  ave- 
nue after  the  vanishing  forms  of  the  Doctor  and  Hoover, 
was  breaking  up  with  the  consolatory  promise  that 
they'd  confront  Hoover  with  their  charges  first  thing  in 
the  morning,  the  open-mouthed  janitor  came  running. 
"  Oh,  Lawton !"  he   panted,   "  Mr.   Halsey   says  he 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


59 


wishes  to  speak  with  you,  and  to  please  come  right 
back." 

"  I'll  wait  for  you,  Snipe,"  said  Shorty.  "  Day-day, 
you  other  fellows."  And  wait  he  did,  ten,  twenty  min- 
utes, and  no  Snipe  came,  and,  wondering  much,  the 
smaller  lad  went  whistling  down  the  avenue,  forgetful, 
in  the  fact  that  he  still  wore  the  jacket,  of  the  dignity 
demanded  of  a  lad  of  the  First  Latin  and  full  sixteen. 
He  wondered  more  when  eight  o'clock  came  that  even- 
ing and  without  Snipe's  ring  at  the  door-bell.  He  won- 
dered most  when  he  saw  Snipe's  pallid,  sad-eyed  face 
on  the  morrow. 


CHAPTER    V. 


There  was  something  in  the  friendship  between  those 
two  members  of  the  First  Latin  not  entirely  easy  for  the 
school  to  understand.  In  many  ways  they  were  an- 
titheses,—Snipe,  over-long ;  Shorty,  under-sized  ;  Snipe, 
brown-eyed  and  taciturn,  as  a  rule ;  Shorty,  blue-eyed 
and  talkative  (Loquax  was  Pop's  pet  name  for  him) ; 
Snipe  was  studious ;  Shorty  quick  to  learn,  but  intol- 
erant of  drudgery.  Both  loved  play,  active  exercise, 
and  adventure.  Both  took  naturally  to  everything  con- 
nected with  the  fire  department,  but  in  addition  the 
smaller  boy  had  a  decided  love  for  the  military,  and  was 
a  member  of  the  drum  corps  of  a  famous  organization 
of  the  old  State  militia,  and  vastly  proud  of  it.  Snipe 
loved  the  fishing-rod,  and  Shorty  had  no  use  for  one. 
Shorty  loved  drill.  Snipe  couldn't  bear  it.  Take  it  all 
in  all,  they  were  an  oddly  assorted  pair,  but  when  forty- 
eight  hours  passed  without  their  being  in  close  com- 

60 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  gl 

munion  something  had  gone  sadly  amiss ;  and  that  was 
the  case  now. 

Everybody  knew  that  Snipe  Lawton  had  httle  or  no 
money  of  any  kind,  but  few  knew  why.  His  own  father 
had  been  dead  many  years.  His  mother  had  remarried 
when  he  was  twelve  years  old,  and  between  the  boy  and 
his  step-father  there  was  no  love  whatever.  Nor  was 
this  the  boy's  fault.  Open-hearted,  affectionate,  and  of 
gentle  nature,  he  had  really  tried  to  like  and  to  win  the 
regard  of  the  man  who  had  won  his  mother's  heart  and 
had  given  her  an  attractive,  even  a  beautiful,  home. 
But  there  are  men  who  have  no  sympathy  whatever 
with  boys.  Mr.  Park  was  one  of  these,  and,  after  two 
years  of  experiment,  gave  up  trying  to  understand  his 
step-son,  and  declared  that  the  boy  must  be  sent  away 
to  school.  It  is  needless  to  describe  what  those  two 
years  were  to  the  mother  or  to  the  son.  Both  wel- 
comed the  decision,  though  it  cost  the  former  many 
tears.  A  younger  sister  was  married  and  living  in 
New  York  City.  Mr.  Park  was  a  Columbiad  and 
a  fervent  admirer  of  the  great  Doctor.  It  was  ar- 
ranged that  the  boy  should  have  his  home  under  the 
roof  of  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Lawrence,  and  his  lessons  under 
Pop.  He  grew  rapidly,  and  his  clothes  were  generally 
short  for  him.  He  was  shy,  sensitive,  and  hated  to  ask 
for  money  from  home,  because  it  had  to  come  from  his 
step-father.  Time  and  again  he  could  not  go  to  the 
little  social  gatherings  of  his  schoolmates,  with  whom 


62  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

he  became  popular  almost  from  the  start,  solely  because 
of  his  outgrown  coat  and  trousers.  His  aunt  had  a 
houseful  of  company  much  of  the  time ;  her  husband's 
kindred  were  numerous  and  prevalent,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  she  was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  tall,  shy,  sometimes 
awkward,  if  not  gawky,  boy,  whose  wrists  were  always 
in  evidence  and  whose  trousers  were  so  short  and 
shabby.  And  so  it  resulted  that  poor  Snipe  had  his 
little  bedroom  in  her  garret,  which  the  servants  soon 
learned  they  could  neglect  with  impunity,  and  a  place 
at  her  table  when  they  were  not  entertaining  company ; 
but  home,  he  really  had  none.  Breakfast  was  served 
at  the  Lawrences'  at  nine  o'clock,  but  before  that  time 
Snipe  was  expected  to  come  down  to  forage  for  himself 
and  be  off  to  school  and  out  of  the  way.  Luncheon  he 
could  take  with  him,  if  he  chose  to  put  it  up  and  carry 
it,  but  as  none  of  the  other  boys  did  this  Snipe  soon 
ceased,  and  one  of  Duncan's  doughnuts  was  the  mid-day 
sustenance,  washed  down  by  a  glass  of  what  the  Doctor 
referred  to  as  "  copious  cold  Croton"  (the  Doctor  loved 
that  word  copious),  and  on  this  rather  meagre  diet 
Snipe  worried  through  the  day  till  dinner-time,  which 
with  Uncle  and  Aunt  Lawrence  was  half-after  six,  and 
a  very  hungry  boy  was  he  who  silently,  even  humbly, 
took  his  seat  among  the  lively,  chattering  party  (there 
were  always  six  or  eight  in  the  family  circle),  and,  as 
soon  as  his  appetite  was  appeased,  was  permitted  to 
withdraw,  presumably,  to  his  studies,  though  the  fact 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  03 

that  he  was  at  Shorty's  home  was  always  comforting  to 
Aunt  Lawrence,  for  she  had  great  regard  for  certam 
feminine  relatives  of  the  smaller  boy,  and  believed  that 
wherever  they  presided  her  nephew  could  not  possibly 
get  into  mischief.  It  is  not  that  Aunt  Lawrence  was 
either  knowingly  neglectful  or  actively  unkind.  She  was 
a  busy  woman,  a  fashionable  woman,  a  woman  full  of 
pleasant  impulse.  She  had  told  George  to  be  sure  and 
come  to  her  whenever  anything  went  wrong,  when  he 
needed  advice  or  aid,  or — rather  vaguely — anything  else. 
She  had  told  the  butler  to  be  sure  to  see  that  Master 
George  had  coffee  ready  every  morning  at  quarter-past 
eight,  and  the  seamstress  was  ordered  to  keep  his  ward- 
robe in  repair,  and  for  a  month  or  so  both  did  as  they 
were  bid,  and  then  let  Master  Geoi^e  look  out  for  him- 
self. Mr.  Park  had  requested  Mr.  Lawrence  to  see  that 
George  was  given  fifty  cents  each  Saturday  for  his  spend- 
ing money,  out  of  which  he  was  to  provide  his  own  shoes 
and  gloves.  This  was  Park's  own  allowance  in  the  old 
days  when  he  was  a  boy  at  the  grammar  school  and  Co- 
lumbia was  away  down-town,  about  on  line  with  the 
City  Hall,  and  the  boys  lunched  sumptuously  at  Shad- 
die's  for  thrippence  ;  but  Park  had  not  to  buy  his  shoes 
in  those  days,  though  he  said  he  bought  his  gloves  out  of 
his  httle  sum.  He  simply  argued  that  it  would  be  good 
discipline  for  his  step-son  to  learn  to  economize.  Gloves 
and  shoes  cost  much  less  in  the  ante-bellum  days  than 
now,  and  less  in  Park's  school-days  than  in  those  of  his 


04  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

step-son.  George  took  what  was  given  him  silently  and 
without  appeal,  and  during  his  three  years  at  Pop's  that 
was  every  cent  of  money  he  received  from  home.  But 
gloves,  he  said,  he  had  no  use  for,  and  boots  were  far 
beyond  him.  Furthermore,  low  shoes,  summer  and 
winter  both,  were  best  to  run  in,  and  not  another  boy 
at  the  Doctor's  dreamed  of  the  true  state  of  the  case, 
unless  it  was  little  Shorty,  for  to  that  boy  the  hungry 
heart  of  the  lonely  fellow  seemed  to  go  out  from  the 
start.  He,  too,  was  an  alien ;  he,  too,  had  left  the 
mother  wing  to  find  a  nest  in  the  great,  thronging  city ; 
he,  too,  was  probably  not  a  little  in  the  way,  but  for  him 
at  least  there  was  warmth  and  interest  and  sympathy 
and  kindliness,  and  many  a  time  and  oft  did  Snipe  roost 
all  night  long  in  that  snug  white  bed  of  Shorty's,  with 
no  one  "  at  home"  the  wiser.  And  many  and  many  a 
time  had  he  been  made  welcome  at  the  bountiful  board 
where  Shorty  sat  among  an  affectionate  kindred,  and 
the  tall  boy's  soft  brown  eyes  seemed  mutely  to  thank 
each  member  of  the  big  family  circle  for  every  pleasant 
word.  They  had  grown  to  like  him,  despite  his  silence, 
or  perhaps  because  of  it  and  its  contrast  with  Shorty's 
chatter.  They  took  no  note  of  his  short-sleeved,  skimpy 
sack-coat  or  the  low  shoes  at  which  Briggs  had  sneered 
and  other  fellows  at  school  had  levelled  their  witticisms 
until  they  saw  it  hurt,  and  then,  wonder  of  wonders,  the 
latter  quit  it.  With  all  their  impulse  for  fun  and  froUc 
and  mischief.  Pop's  boys  had  the  leaven  of  gentlemen. 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  65 

Even  Hoover  had  never  twitted  Lawton  on  the  evidences 
of  his  poverty,  and  there  were  others  of  that  immortal 
twenty-seven  httle  better  off  than  he.  In  all  the  First 
Latin,  Briggs  had  been  the  only  one  to  continue  the  tor- 
ment after  the  discovery  that  it  brought  pain  and  dis- 
tress, and  even  Briggs  no  longer  dare  attempt  it  when 
certain  of  the  class  were  near,  for  Julian,  overhearing 
him  one  day,  had  called  him  aside  at  recess  and  told  him 
that  only  a  mean-spirited  whelp  would  be  guilty  of  such 
a  thing,  slapped  his  face,  and  invited  him  into  a  neigh- 
boring stable  to  fight  it  out,  which  invitation  Briggs  de- 
clined. Even  little  Shorty,  overhearing  Briggs  one  day, 
had  flown  at  him  like  a  young  bull-terrier  and  drawn 
blood  from  Briggs's  nose  before  they  could  be  separated. 
The  class  stood  up  for  Snipe  most  loyally  in  these  days 
of  his  early  tribulations,  and  by  the  time  Second  Latin 
year  was  over  no  one  seemed  to  think  of  his  worn  and 
undeniably  shabby  garb.  Snipe  himself  was  "  all  right," 
said  they.  But  there  was  lingering  venom  in  the  soul 
of  Briggs,  and  as  for  Hoover,  his  soul  was  that  of  Ish- 
mael  and  his  hand  against  everybody,  and  when  these  two 
crabbed  natures  drifted  together  in  alliance,  offensive  and 
defensive,  it  meant  trouble  for  somebody,  and  there  was 
no  fun  in  the  First  Latin  when  Tuesday  came,  for  to  one- 
and  all  it  was  plain  that  Snipe  Lawton's  heart  was  heavy, 
and  his  big  brown  eyes  w^ere  full  of  nameless  misery. 

Twice  that  morning  had  Shorty  tried  to  get  him  aside 
with  sympathetic  question,  but  the  elder  shook  his  head. 

5 


QQ  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

There  was  no  time.  At  recess,  when  Shorty  counted 
on  seeing  his  chum  and  hearing  the  whole  story,  Law- 
ton  never  came  out  at  all.  John,  the  janitor,  said  he 
was  having  a  talk  with  Mr.  Halsey,  trying  to  get  him  not 
to  report  something  to  the  Doctor,  but  John  himself 
seemed  ill  at  ease  and  anxious  to  avoid  question.  The 
class  communed  together  and  instinctively  connected 
Briggs  and  Hoover  with  the  mystery,  but  Hoover  had 
disappointed  everybody  by  remaining  away  from  school 
that  day,  and  as  for  Briggs,  he  was  in  everybody's  way. 
Wherever  he  saw  a  group  in  low-toned  conference  he 
would  make  for  it,  and  by  his  very  presence  and  loud- 
voiced  questions  and  conjectures  put  an  end  to  their 
confidences.  Everybody  seemed  to  feel  that  when  the 
Doctor  came  down  that  afternoon  there  would  be  a  sen- 
sation of  some  kind,  and  school  reassembled  after  recess 
and  the  First  Latin  went  to  its  benches  without  even 
accidentally  upsetting  one  of  them.  Snipe  was  sitting 
at  the  end  of  the  upper  bench  looking  drearily  out  on 
the  avenue,  and  Mr.  Halsey,  with  darker  face  than  usual, 
had  taken  his  accustomed  place. 

A  spiritless  recitation  was  begun,  Snipe  losing  his 
head  and  memory  and  place  after  place.  There  were 
boys  who  knew  the  answers  to  questions  at  which  he 
only  shook  his  head  and  who  presently  refused  to  speak 
and  go  above  him.  Halsey's  face  grew  darker  and 
darker  at  these  evidences  of  sympathy.  The  "  next ! 
next !  next !"  became  incessant.     Up  even  towards  the 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  gy 

head  of  the  class,  above  the  seat  to  which  the  sad-eyed 
fellow  had  drifted,  there  was  no  animation.  The  leaders 
gave  their  answers  in  low  tones,  as  though  to  say, 
"  We've  got  to  go  through  with  this,  but  we've  no  heart 
in  it.  Snipe's  proper  place  is  up  here  among  us."  It 
was  actually  a  relief  to  everybody  when  at  last,  towards 
the  close  of  the  hour,  the  Doctor's  heavy  tread  was 
heard,  slow  and  majestic,  ascending  the  wooden  stairs. 

It  was  his  custom  to  halt  at  the  doorway,  and  from 
that  point  of  view  survey  his  waiting  scholars,  the  foot 
of  the  class  coming  in  for  invariable  comment.  I  can 
see  him  now,  portly,  erect,  scrupulously  neat  and  ex- 
act in  dress  from  the  crown  of  his  deeply  weeded 
high  top  hat  to  the  tip  of  his  polished  shoes.  Clean 
shaved,  the  wide  upper  lip,  the  broad  massive  chin, 
the  great  sweep  of  jaw.  Collar,  cuffs,  and  shirt-front 
immaculate  ;  coat,  waistcoat,  and  trousers,  and  the  broad 
stock  of  flawless  black.  The  gold  seal  dangling  from 
his  watch  ribbon  the  only  speck  of  color,  the  gold  top 
of  his  stout,  straight,  black  cane  concealed  in  his  hand. 
Under  their  shaggy  brows  the  deep-set  gray  eyes  twin- 
kle, as  slowly  he  lifts  the  long  ferule  and  points  it  at  the 
luckless  wight  on  the  lowermost  bench ;  then  with  in- 
quiring gaze  sweeps  the  line  of  intent  young  faces,  look- 
ing for  some  one. 

"  What !"  he  says.  "  Another  occupant !  Where, 
then,  is  the 

'  Monstrum  horrendum,  injorme,  ingens,  cut  lumen  ademptuni'  f 


68  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  at  any  other  clay  the  class,  barring  Hoover,  would 
have  shouted  with  appreciative  joy ;  but  not  to-day. 
Despite  Hoover's  absence  a  cloud  has  lowered  over  their 
house.  They  cannot  laugh,  even  in  counterfeited  glee, 
and  the  Doctor's  face  changes  on  the  instant  as  he  steps 
within.  He  has  noted  Lawton's  unusual  position  and 
his  strange,  white  face. 

"Anything  wrong,  Mr.  Halsey?'' 

The  head-master  rises  and  turns  to  his  revered  senior. 
In  low  tone  he  says,  so  that  only  one  or  two  can  catch 
the  words,  "  A  matter  FU  have  to  tell  you  after  school, 
sir."  And  school  must  last  over  an  hour  longer.  Si- 
lently the  class  exchanges  the  text-book  for  Xenophon. 
The  Doctor's  own  hour  has  come,  sacred  to  Greek,  and 
silently  the  boys  retake  their  places.  But  the  occasion 
weighs  upon  the  Doctor's  mind.  Something  tells  him 
there  is  worry  ahead,  and  the  sooner  it  is  met  the  bet- 
ter. One  expedient  never  fails  him,  "  How  have  they 
done  to-day,  Mr.  Halsey  ?" 

The  head-master  purses  up  his  lip.  He  knows  that 
since  recess  at  least,  so  far  as  recitation  is  concerned, 
they  have  done  unusually  ill ;  but  he  knows  what  the 
Doctor  desires, 

"  Behaved  rather  better  than  usual,  sir." 

"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  says  Pop.  "  How 
many  young  gentlemen  of  the  First  Latin  deserve  half 
holiday?  All  hands  up !"  And  up  go  the  hands,  but 
with  only  half  the  usual  alacrity. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  gg 

"  The  ayes  have  it.     The  class  may  retire." 

And  slowly  the  First  Latin  finds  its  legs  and  lingers, 
for  Halsey  whispers  to  Pop,  and  the  latter,  with  somewhat 
grayer  shade  to  his  face,  says,  "  Lawton  will  remain." 

The  boys  dawdle  unaccountably  about  the  big  book- 
case, glancing  over  their  shoulders  at  Lawton,  who  sits 
with  drooping  head  and  downcast  eyes  opposite  Halsey's 
table.  Briggs,  panting  a  little,  slinks  through  the  silent 
group  to  the  doorway,  and  scuttles  quickly  down  the 
stairs.  When  Joy  and  Beekman  reach  the  street  he  is 
peering  round  the  stable  at  the  corner,  but  slips  out  of 
sight  an  instant  later.  Three  or  four  of  the  class.  Shorty 
among  them,  still  hover  about  the  coat-rack.  Shorty 
says  he  can't  find  his  overshoes,  which  is  not  remark- 
able, as  he  did  not  wear  them.  Halsey  is  nervously 
tapping  his  desk  with  the  butt  of  his  pencil  and  glancing 
at  the  dawdlers  with  ominous  eyes.  At  last  the  Doctor 
uphfts  his  head  and  voice.  He  has  been  looking  over 
some  papers  on  his  desk. 

"  Those  young  gentlemen  at  the  coat-rack  seem  reluc- 
tant to  leave  school,  Mr.  Halsey.  Hah  !  Julian,  cestus 
bearing !  Dix,  ecclesiasticus  !  Et  tu,  puer  parvule,  lin- 
gua longissima  !"  He  pauses  impressively,  and,  raising 
hand  and  pencil,  points  to  the  door.  "  If  one  of  'em 
comes  back  before  to-morrow,  Mr.  Halsey,  set  him  to 
work  on  Sallust." 

And  then  the  three  know  enough  to  stand  no  longer 
on  the  order  of  their  going.     Their  faces  are  full  of 


70  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

sympathy  as  they  take  a  farewell  peep  at  Snipe,  and 
Shorty  signals  to  unseeing  eyes  "  I'll  wait."  And  wait 
the  little  fellow  does,  a  long  hour,  kicking  his  heels 
about  the  cold  pavement  without,  and  then  the  Second 
Latin  comes  tumbling  down-stairs,  scattering  with  noisy 
glee,  and  marvelhng  much  to  see  Shorty  looking  blue 
and  cold  and  mournful.  He  will  not  answer  their 
questions ;  he's  only  waiting  for  Snipe.  And  another 
quarter-hour  passes,  and  then  for  an  instant  the  boy's 
eyes  brighten,  and  he  springs  forward  as  his  tall  chum 
appears  at  the  doorway,  cap  downpulled  over  his  eyes, 
coat-collar  hunched  up  to  his  ears,  a  glimpse  of  stock- 
ing between  the  hem  of  his  scant  trousers  and  those  in- 
adequate shoes.  But  the  light  goes  out  as  quickly  as  it 
came,  for  with  Lawton,  similarly  bundled  up  and  well- 
nigh  as  shabby,  is  the  head-master,  who  silently  uplifts 
his  hand  and  warns  Shorty  back ;  then,  linking  an  arm 
in  one  of  Lawton's,  leads  him  away  around  the  corner 
of  Twenty-fifth  Street. 

It  is  more  than  the  youngster  can  stand.  Long-legged 
Damon,  short-legged  Pythias,  the  two  have  been  friends 
since  Third  Latin  days  and  chums  for  over  a  year. 
Shorty  springs  after  the  retreating  forms,  but  halts  short 
at  sound  of  his  name,  called  in  imperative  tone  from 
above.  At  the  open  window  stands  the  Doctor  gazing 
out.  He  uses  no  further  words.  His  right  hand  is 
occupied  with  his  snowy  cambric  handkerchief.  With 
his  left  he  makes  two  motions.     He  curves  his  finger 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


71 


inward,  indicating  plainly  "  Come  back  !"  and  then  with 
the  index  points  down  the  avenue,  meaning  as  plainly 
"  Go !"  and  there  is  no  cheery,  undignified  whistle  as 
Shorty  hastens  to  tell  his  tale  of  sorrow  to  sympathetic 
ears  at  home. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


There  were  three  more  school-days  that  week,  and 
they  were  the  quietest  of  the  year.  On  the  principle 
that  it  was  an  ill  wind  that  blew  nobody  good,  there  was 
one  instructor  to  whom  such  unusual  decorum  was  wel- 
come, and  that  was  poor  Meeker,  who  noted  the  gloom 
in  the  eyes  of  most  of  the  First  Latin,  and  responsively 
lengthened  his  face,  yet  at  bottom  was  conscious  of 
something  akin  to  rejoicing.  His  had  been  a  hapless 
lot.  He  had  entered  upon  his  duties  the  first  week  in 
September,  and  the  class  had  taken  his  measure  the  first 
day.  A  better-meaning  fellow  than  Meeker  probably 
never  lived,  but  he  was  handicapped  by  a  soft,  appeal- 
ing manner  and  a  theory  that  to  get  the  most  out  of 
boys  he  must  have  their  good-will,  and  to  get  their  good- 
will he  must  load  them  with  what  the  class  promptly 
derided  as  "  blarney."  He  was  poor  and  struggling, 
was  graduated  high  in  his  class  at  college,  was  eager  to 
prepare  himself  for  the  ministry,  and  took  to  teaching 
72 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  73 

in  the  mean  time  to  provide  the  necessary  means.  The 
First  Latin  would  have  it  that  Pop  didn't  want  him  at 
all,  but  that  Meeker  gave  him  no  rest  until  promised 
employment,  for  Meeker  had  well  known  that  there  was 
to  be  a  vacancy,  and  was  first  to  apply  for  it.  But  what 
made  it  more  than  a  luckless  move  for  him  was  that  he 
had  applied  for  the  position  vacated  by  a  man  Pop's 
boys  adored,  "  a  man  from  the  ground  up,"  as  they  ex- 
pressed it,  a  splendid,  deep-voiced,  deep-chested,  long- 
limbed  athlete,  with  a  soul  as  big  as  his  massive  frame 
and  an  energy  as  boundless  as  the  skies.  He,  too,  had 
worked  his  way  to  the  priesthood,  teaching  long  hours 
at  Pop's  each  day,  tutoring  college  weaklings  or  would- 
be  freshmen  in  the  evenings,  stutifying  when  and  where 
he  could,  but  wasting  never  a  minute.  Never  was  there 
a  tutor  who  preached  less  or  practised  more.  His  hfe 
was  a  lesson  of  self-denial,  of  study,  of  purpose.  Work 
hard,  play  hard,  pray  hard,  might  have  been  his  motto, 
for  whatsoever  that  hand  of  his  found  to  do  that  did  he 
with  all  his  might.  Truth,  manliness,  magnetism,  were 
in  every  glance  of  his  clear  eyes,  every  tone  of  his  deep 
voice.  Boys  shrank  from  boys'  subterfuges  and  turned 
in  unaccustomed  disgust  from  school-boy  lies  before  they 
had  been  a  month  in  Tuttle's  presence ;  he  seemed  to 
feel  such  infinite  pity  for  a  coward.  Never  using  a 
harsh  word,  never  an  unjust  one,  never  losing  faith  or 
temper,  his  was  yet  so  commanding  a  nature  that  by 
sheer  force  of  his  personality  and  example  his  pupils 


74  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

followed  unquestioning.  With  the  strength  of  a  Her- 
cules, he  could  not  harm  an  inferior  creature.  With 
the  courage  of  a  lion,  he  had  only  sorrow  for  the  faint- 
hearted. With  a  gift  and  faculty  for  leadership  that 
would  have  made  him  a  general-in-chief,  he  was  humble 
as  a  child  in  the  sight  of  his  Maker,  and  in  all  the  long 
years  of  his  great,  brave  life,  only  once,  that  his  boys 
ever  heard  of,  did  he  use  that  rugged  strength  to  disci- 
pline or  punish  a  human  being,  and  that  only  when 
courtesy  and  persuasion  had  failed  to  stop  a  ruffian 
tongue  in  its  foul  abuse  of  that  Maker's  name.  It  was 
a  solemn  day  for  the  school,  a  glad  one  for  the  church 
militant,  when  he  took  leave  of  the  one  to  take  his  vows 
in  the  other.  There  wasn't  a  boy  among  all  his  pupils 
that  would  have  been  surprised  at  his  becoming  a  bishop 
inside  of  five  years, — as,  indeed,  he  did  inside  of  ten, — 
and  the  class  had  not  ceased  mourning  their  loss  when 
Meeker  came  to  take  his  place.  "  Fill  Tut's  shoes !"  said 
Snipe,  with  fine  derision.  "  Why,  he'll  rattle  around  in 
'em  like  shot  in  a  drum."  No  wonder  Meeker  failed  to 
fill  the  bill. 

And  yet  he  tried  hard.  Something  told  him  the  First 
Latin  would  decide  whether  he  should  go  or  stay. 
Halsey  had  not  been  consulted  in  his  selection,  or  Hal- 
sey  would  have  told  the  Doctor  in  so  many  words  that 
it  took  a  man  of  bigger  calibre  to  handle  that  class. 
Beach  had  not  been  consulted.  He  had  known  Meeker 
in  undergraduate  days  and  thought  him  lacking  in  back- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  75 

bone.  Pop  had  "  sprung"  him,  so  to  speak,  upon  the 
school,  as  though  he  really  felt  he  owed  his  boys  an 
apology,  and,  with  the  ingenuity  of  so  many  unregen- 
erate  young  imps,  the  First  Latin  set  to  work  to  make 
Meeker's  life  a  burden  to  him. 

It  was  one  of  the  fads  of  the  school  that  the  individual 
slate  should  be  used  in  mathematical  hour  instead  of  a 
wall  slate  or  blackboard.  It  was  one  of  the  practices 
to  give  out  examples  in  higher  arithmetic  or  equations 
in  algebra  and  have  the  pupils  work  them  out  then 
and  there,  each  boy,  presumably,  working  for  himself. 
Meeker  introduced  a  refinement  of  the  system.  He  an- 
nounced one  example  at  a  time,  and  directed  that  as 
soon  as  a  pupil  had  finished  the  work  he  should  step 
forward  and  deposit  his  slate,  face  downward,  on  the 
corner  of  the  master's  table.  The  next  boy  to  finish 
should  place  his  slate  on  top  of  that  of  the  first,  and 
at  the  end  of  five  minutes  the  pile  of  slates  thus  formed 
was  turned  bottom  side  up.  All  boys  who  had  not 
finished  their  work  in  the  given  time — four,  five,  six,  or 
eight  minutes,  according  to  the  difficulty  of  the  problem 
— were  counted  out.  All  whose  work  proved  to  be  in- 
correct were  similarly  scored,  while  those  who  had  ob- 
tained by  proper  methods  the  right  result  were  credited 
with  a  mark  of  three,  with  an  additional  premium  for 
the  quickest,  the  first  boy  counting  six,  the  second  five, 
the  third  four.  Meeker  introduced  the  system  with  a 
fine  flourish  of  trumpets  and  marvelled  at  its  prompt 


76  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

success.  Even  boys  known  to  be  lamentably  backward 
in  the  multiplication-table  were  found  to  present  slates 
full  of  apparently  unimpeachable  figures  in  cube  root  or 
equations  of  the  second  degree,  and  the  whole  twenty- 
seven  would  have  their  slates  on  the  pile  within  the  al- 
lotted time.  "  Of  course,"  said  Meeker,  "  it  is  beyond 
behef  that  young  gentlemen  of  the  First  Latin  would  be 
guilty  of  accepting  assistance  or  copying  from  a  competi- 
tor's work,"  whereat  there  would  be  heard  the  low  mur- 
mur, as  of  far-distant,  but  rapidly  approaching,  tornado, 
and  the  moan  would  swell  unaccountably,  even  while 
every  pencil  was  flying,  every  eye  fixed  upon  the  slate. 
This  thing  went  along  for  two  or  three  days  with  no 
more  serious  mishap  than  that  twice,  without  an  appar- 
ent exciting  cause,  while  Meeker  would  be  elaborately 
explaining  some  alleged  knotty  point  to  Joy  or  Lawton, 
the  half-completed  stack  would  edge  slowly  off  the  slip- 
pery table  and  topple  with  prodigious  crash  and  clatter 
to  the  floor.  Then  Meeker  bethought  himself  of  a 
stopper  to  these  seismic  developments,  and  directed 
that  henceforth,  instead  of  being  deposited  at  the  corner, 
the  slates  should  be  laid  directly  in  front  of  him  on  the 
middle  of  the  desk.  This  was  most  decorously  done  as 
much  as  twice,  and  then  an  extraordinary  thing  occurred. 
It  had  occasionally  happened  that  two  or  even  three  of 
the  boys  would  finish  their  work  at  the  same  moment, 
and  in  their  eagerness  to  get  their  slates  foremost  on  the 
stack  a  race,  a  rush,  a  collision,  had  resulted.     Then 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  77 

these  became  surprisingly  frequent,  as  many  as  four 
boys  finishing  together  and  coming  Hke  quarter  horses 
to  the  goal,  but  the  day  that  Meeker  hit  on  the  expedi- 
ent of  piling  the  slates  up  directly  in  front  of  him,  and 
at  the  third  essay,  there  was  witnessed  the  most  aston- 
ishing thing  of  all.  Snipe  Avas  always  a  leader  in 
mathematics,  as  he  was  in  nnschief,  and  he,  Carey, 
Satterlee,  and  Joy  were  sure  to  be  of  the  first  four,  but 
now,  for  a  wonder,  four,  even  five,  minutes  passed  and 
not  a  slate  was  in.  "  Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  said 
Meeker,  "  there's  nothing  remarkable  in  this  example. 
I  obtained  the  result  with  the  utmost  ease  in  three  min- 
utes." And  still  the  heads  bent  lower  over  the  slates 
and  the  pencils  whizzed  more  furiously.  Five  minutes 
went  by.  "  Most  astonishing  !"  said  Meeker,  and  began 
going  over  his  own  work  to  see  if  there  could  be  any 
mistake,  and  no  sooner  was  he  seen  to  be  absorbed 
thereat  than  quick  glances  shot  up  and  down  the  long 
bench-hne  and  slates  were  deftly  passed  from  hand  to 
hand.  The  laggards  got  those  of  the  quicker.  The  ex- 
perts swiftly  straightened  out  the  errors  of  the  slow,  and 
some  mysterious  message  went  down  from  hand  to  hand 
in  Snipe's  well-known  chirography,  and  then,  just  as 
Meeker  would  have  raised  his  head  to  glance  at  the  time 
and  warn  them  there  was  but  half  a  minute  more,  as 
one  boy  up  rose  the  twenty-seven  and  charged  upon 
him  with  uplifted  slates.  Batter,  clatter,  rattle,  bang! 
they  came  crashing  down  upon  the  desk,  while  in  one 


78  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

mighty,  struggling  upheaval  the  class  surged  about  him 
and  that  unstable  table. 

"  But  those  behind  cried  '  Forward  !' 
And  tliose  before  cried  '  Back  !'  " 

Turner,  Beekman,  Snipe,  and  Shorty  vigorously  expos- 
tulating against  such  riotous  performances  and  appealing 
to  their  classmates  not  to  upset  Mr.  Meeker,  who  had 
tilted  back  out  of  his  chair  only  in  the  nick  of  time,  for 
the  table  followed,  skating  across  the  floor,  and  it  was 
"  really  verging  on  the  miraculous,"  said  he,  "  that  these 
gentlemen  should  all  finish  at  the  same  instant."  But 
that  was  the  last  of  the  slate-pile  business,  "  Hereafter, 
young  gentlemen,"  said  Meeker,  on  the  morrow,  "  you 
will  retain  your  seats  and  slates,  but  as  soon  as  you  have 
obtained  the  result  hold  up  your  hand.  I  will  record  the 
name  and  the  order  and  then  call  you  forward,  as  I  may 
wish  to  see  your  slates."  This  worked  beautifully  just 
once,  then  the  hands  would  go  up  in  blocks  of  five, 
and  the  class  as  one  boy  would  exclaim  "  Astonishing ! 
Miraculous  !"  Then  Meeker  abandoned  the  speed  sys- 
tem and  tried  the  plan  of  calling  up  at  thirty-second  in- 
tervals by  the  watch  as  many  boys  as  he  thought  should 
have  finished,  beginning  at  the  head  of  the  class.  And 
then  the  First  Latin  gave  him  an  exhibition  of  the  peculiar 
properties  of  those  benches.  They  were  about  eight  or 
nine  feet  long,  supported  on  two  stoutly  braced  "  legs," 
with  the  seat  projecting  some  eighteen  inches  beyond 
each  support.     Put  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  on 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  79 

one  end  of  an  eight-foot  plank,  with  a  fulcrum  a  foot 
away,  and  the  long  end  will  tilt  up  and  point  to  the  roof 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Meeker  called  his  lads  up 
three  at  a  time,  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  new  system, 
and  smiled  to  see  how  smoothly  it  worked  and  how  un- 
commonly still  the  lads  were.  Then  came  exhibit  num- 
ber two,  and  in  the  most  innocent  way  in  the  world  Do- 
remus  and  Ballon — the  heavy  weights  of  the  class — took 
seats  at  the  extreme  lower  end  of  their  respective  benches. 
The  sudden  rising  of  the  three  other  occupants  wiien 
called  forward  resulted  in  instant  gymnastics.  The  long 
bench  suddenly  tilted  skyward,  a  fat  young  gentleman 
was  spilled  off  the  shorter  end,  vehemently  struggling 
and  sorely  bruised,  and  then  back  the  bench  would  come 
with  a  bang  that  shook  the  premises,  while  half  the  class 
would  rush  in  apparent  consternation  to  raise  their  pros- 
trate and  aggrieved  comrade.  Hoover's  bench  was  never 
known  to  misbehave  in  this  way,  for  he  had  it  usually  all 
to  himself,  except  when  some  brighter  lad  was  sent  to  the 
foot  in  temporary  punishment.  But  no  matter  how  ab- 
surd the  incident,  how  palpable  the  mischief,  it  was  appar- 
ently a  point  of  honor  with  the  class  to  see  nothing  funny 
in  it,  to  maintain  an  expression  of  severe  disapproval,  if 
not  of  righteous  indignation,  and  invariably  to  denounce 
the  perpetrators  of  such  indignity  as  unworthy  to  longer 
remain  in  a  school  whose  boast  it  was  that  the  scholars 
loved  their  masters  and  would  never  do  aught  to  annoy 
them.     The  most  amazing  things  were  perpetually  hap- 


30  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

pening.  Meeker's  eyes  were  no  sharper  than  his  wits, 
and  he  could  not  understand  how  it  was  that  Snipe  and 
Joy,  two  of  the  keenest  mathematicians  in  the  class, 
should  so  frequently  require  assistance  at  the  desk,  and 
when  they  returned  to  their  seats,  such  objects  on  his 
table  as  the  hand-bell,  the  pen-rack,  or  even  the  ink- 
stand, would  be  gifted  with  invisible  wings  and  whisk 
off  after  them.  Nothing  could  exceed  Snipe's  astonish- 
ment and  just  abhorrence  when  it  was  finally  discovered 
that  a  long  loop  of  tough  but  almost  invisible  horse-hair 
was  attached  to  the  back  of  his  sack-coat,  or  the  con- 
demnation in  the  expressed  disapprobation  of  the  class 
when  Joy  was  found  to  be  similarly  equipped.  Then 
Meeker's  high  silk  hat,  hung  on  a  peg  outside  Pop's  par- 
ticular closet,  began  to  develop  astonishing  powers  of 
procreation,  bringing  forth  one  day  a  litter  of  mice,  on 
another  a  pair  of  froHcsome  kittens.  Meeker  abandoned 
the  hat  for  a  billycock  as  the  autumn  wore  on,  and  the 
class  appeared  content ;  only  the  Doctor  was  allowed  a 
high  hat.  But  Meeker  was  of  nervous  temperament, 
and  started  at  sudden  sounds  and  squirmed  under  the 
influence  of  certain  others,  noting  which  the  class  sym- 
pathetically sprinkled  the  floor  with  torpedoes  and 
jumped  liked  electrified  frogs  when  they  exploded  under 
some  crunching  heel,  and  the  fuel  for  the  big  stove  pres- 
ently became  gifted  with  explosive  tendencies  that  filled 
Meeker's  soul  with  dread,  and  the  room  with  smoke, 
and  the  breasts  of  the  First  Latin  with  amaze  that  the 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  g^ 

janitor  could  be  so  careless.  Then  there  was  a  strolling 
German  band,  with  clarinets  of  appalling  squeak,  that 
became  speedily  possessed  of  the  devil  and  a  desire  to 
"  spiel"  under  the  school  windows  just  after  the  math- 
ematical hour  began,  and  Meeker's  voice  was  uplifted 
from  the  windows  in  vain  protest.  The  band  was 
well  paid  to  come  and  the  poUceman  to  keep  away.  I 
fear  me  that  many  a  dime  of  poor  Snipe's  little  stipend 
went  into  that  unhallowed  contribution  rather  than  into 
his  boots.  All  this  and  more  was  Meeker  accepting 
with  indomitable  smiles  day  after  day  until  the  sudden 
withdrawal  of  George  Lawton  from  the  school, — no  boy 
knew  why,  and  all  the  fun  went  out  of  the  hearts  of  the 
First  Latin  when  they  heard  the  rumor  going  round  that 
Pop  himself  had  written  to  his  old  pupil,  Mr.  Park,  sug- 
gesting that  his  step-son  would  better  be  recalled  from  a 
city  which  seemed  so  full  of  dangerous  temptation  to 
one  of  George's  temperament,  and  yet  Pop  had  really 
seemed  fond  of  him. 

The  whole  thing  was  unaccountable.  The  most 
miserable  lad  in  school,  apparently,  was  Shorty.  He 
had  gone  to  the  Lawrences  to  inquire  for  his  chum 
right  after  dinner  that  Tuesday  evening,  and  the  ser- 
vant checked  him  when  he  would  have  bolted,  as  usual, 
up  the  stairs  to  George's  room.  Mrs.  Lawrence  was 
entertaining  friends  at  dinner,  but  had  left  word  that  if 
Master  Reggie  came  he  was  to  be  told  that  George  could 
see  no  one  that  evening,  that  Mrs.  Lawrence  would 

6 


82  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

explain  it  all  later.  Shorty  went  there  Wednesday  on 
his  way  to  school,  and  the  butler  said  Master  George 
was  still  in  his  room,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed. Wednesday  at  recess  the  leaders  of  the  class 
held  a  council  and  determined  to  appoint  a  committee 
to  ask  an  explanation  of  the  Doctor,  since  not  a  word 
could  be  extracted  from  Halsey  or  Beach,  and  the  com- 
mittee called  right  after  recitation  and  "  rose  and  re- 
ported" within  two  minutes.  Pop  silently  pointed  to 
the  door.  Then  seeing  that  Shorty  and  Joy  still  lin- 
gered, half  determined,  supplemented  the  gesture  by 
"Young  gentlemen,  pack  yourselves  off!  When  I  am 
ready  to  tell  you,  you'll  hear  it  and  not  before." 

But  the  woe  in  Shorty's  face  was  too  much  for  him, 
after  all.  He  knew  the  lads  and  the  friendship  they 
bore  each  other. 

"Here  you,  sir!"  he  cried,  with  affected  sternness, 
"  sit  there  till  I  want  you,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  bench, 
even  while  frowning  at  the  others  of  the  disheartened 
delegation,  who  scuttled  away  down-stairs  in  dread  of 
the  Doctor's  rising  wrath.  When  all  were  gone  and 
the  big,  bare  school-rooms  were  still,  Pop  looked  up 
from  a  letter  he  was  writing,  beckoned  with  his  long 
forefinger,  then  reversing  the  hand,  pointed  down- 
ward at  the  floor  beside  his  desk,  and  Shorty,  recog- 
nizing the  signal,  with  leaping  heart  and  twitching  lips, 
marched  up  and  took  his  stand,  looking  dumbly  into 
the  Doctor's  pallid  face.     The  great  man  shoved  his 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  gg 

gold-rimmed  spectacles  half-way  up  across  the  expanse 
of  forehead  the  lads  had  likened  to  "  a  ten-acre  lot," 
folded  his  hands  across  the  voluminous  waistcoat,  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair.  Then  his  eyes  swept  down- 
ward. 

"  Has  our  friend  Snipe  often  been  in  need  of  money  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  He  had  hardly  any  at  all,  sir,"  blurted  Shorty,  with 
something  like  a  sob.  "  There  are  holes  in  the  soles  of 
his  shoes  and  corresponding  holes  worn  in  his  stockings, 
and  the  skin  of  the  soles  of  his  feet'll  go  next.  He 
never  had  enough  to  get  a  decent  lunch  with,  and 
couldn't  join  our  first  nine  last  year  because  he  hadn't 
the  uniform  and  wouldn't  ask  for  one.  The  Club 
subscribed  and  bought  it, — he  was  so  bully  a  player. 
All  the " 

The  Doctor  knows  that  Shorty  is  not  named  because 
of  brevity  in  speech,  and  upraises  a  white  hand.  "  Did 
he  owe  any  of  the  boys, — Hoover,  for  instance  ?" 

"  He  wouldn't  borrow,"  said  Shorty,  indignantly;  "last 
of  all  from  Hoover.     None  of  us  ever  owe  him  anything 

except "    And  Shorty  gulps,  and  the  tears  that  were 

starting  to  his  eyes  burn  out  before  the  sudden  fire  of 
his  wrath. 

"  Except  what  ?"  asks  Pop,  deliberately. 

"A  lickin',"  says  Shorty,  with  reddening  face,  whereat 
the  Doctor's  head  tilts  back  and  the  great  stomach  heaves 
spasmodically.     The  grim  lines  about  the  wide  mouth 


34  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

relax.  It  is  his  way  of  laughing  and  he  enjoys  it,  but 
Shorty  doesn't. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what's  the  trouble  with — with 
Lawton,  sir,"  he  almost  sobs  again.     "  They  won't  let 

me  see  him,  and  the  boys  say  it's  all  a "     But  here 

Shorty  breaks  off,  which  is  unlike  him. 

"Yes,"  suggested  Pop,  "  they  say  it's  all  a — what?" 

"  Shame,"  said  Shorty,  well  knowing  that  that  shame 
is  mentally  qualified  by  a  most  unqualified  adjective. 

Pop  ponders  a  moment.  "  Has  none  of  the  boys 
missed  anything  besides  Joy, — no  trinkets,  rings,  any- 
thing?" 

"  Hoover  and  Briggs  are  always  missing  something, 
sir,  and  Seymour  lost  a  gold  pencil." 

"  But  Lawton  never  borrowed  and  didn't  owe  any- 
body,— in  school,  I  mean  ?"  asks  Pop. 

"Didn't  owe  anybody  anywhere  that  I  know  of!"  pro- 
tests Shorty.  "  He  says  it  makes  him  sick  to  owe  any- 
thing. If  Hoover  says  anything  different,  he's  lying. 
That's  all." 

"  What's  the  reason  Hoover  isn't  at  school  ?"  asks 
Pop,  and  while  his  face  does  not  change  the  eyes  study 
closely. 

"  He's  afraid  of  trouble  because  some  of  that  Meta- 
mora  set  tripped  and  hurt  Snipe,  running  to  a  fire  last 
Saturday." 

"  That's  what  you  get  for  running  to  fires,  sir.  Young 
gentlemen  have  no  business  mingling  with  crowds  and 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  §5 

rowdies.  That's  why  you  lost  the  head  of  the  class  in 
Latin  three  weeks  ago.  You  spent  hours  at  that  big  fire 
down-town  when  you  should  have  been  at  your  Virgil." 

Shorty  reddens,  but  attempts  no  defence.  He  knows 
it  is  so.  He  knows,  furthermore,  that  if  the  bell  were 
to  strike  the  next  minute  he'd  be  off  like  the  wind, — 
Latin,  and  even  Snipe,  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 
What  he  doesn't  understand  is  how  the  Doctor  knows 
all  about  it. 

"  Youngster,"  says  the  Doctor,  after  a  moment's  re- 
flection, "I  want  Hoover  back  at  school  at  once,  and 
there  must  be  no  harming  him  in  any  way.  What's 
more,  I  have  told  Lawton  to  stay  away  until  I  send  for 
him.  There  are  reasons  for  this,  and  you  can  say  so  to 
the  class.  To-night  you  will  see  him  yourself,  and  he 
will  tell  you  the  whole  story.  Now,  I  must  write  to 
Hooyer paterfamilias.     Run  along!" 

But  Pop  is  mistaken  in  one  matter.  Shorty  does  not 
see  Snipe  that  night,  nor  the  next  day,  nor  the  next. 
He  avails  vainly  until  late  in  the  evening,  then  goes  to 
the  Lawrences',  and  Mrs.  Lawrence,  with  scared  face, 
comes  down  to  ask  what  he  means.  George  had  asked 
permission  soon  after  dark  to  go  and  spend  one  hour 
with  his  friend  and  chum  and  tell  him  his  troubles.  It 
is  now  ten  o'clock.  He  has  not  been  there,  and  he  has 
not  returned. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Forty-eight  hours  passed  without  a  trace  of  George 
Lawton,  and  they  were  the  saddest  two  days  the  First 
Latin  ever  knew.  "  All  the  life  went  out  of  the  school 
with  Snipe,"  was  the  way  Joy  expressed  it,  though  no 
fellow  in  the  whole  establishment  was  credited  with 
more  mischief  than  the  speaker.  Lessons  and  recita- 
tions, despite  the  best  efforts  of  Halsey  and  Beach  and 
the  lamb-like  bleatings  of  Meeker,  seemed  to  fall  flat. 
Even  the  leaders  went  through  with  them  in  a  style 
more  dead  than  alive,  and  at  every  sound  upon  the 
stairs  all  eyes  would  be  fixed  on  the  doorway  and  mat- 
ters would  come  to  a  stand-still  in  the  class.  It  was 
plain  that  every  boy  was  thinking  only  of  the  missing 
comrade  and  praying  for  tidings  of  him.  The  masters, 
too,  were  weighed  down  with  apprehension — or  some- 
thing, Othello's  dark  face  wore  a  yellowish  hue,  and 
Meeker  looked  the  picture  of  nervous  woe.  His  com- 
86 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  gy 

plexion,  always  pallid,  now  seemed  ashen,  and  he  started 
at  every  sudden  sound.  Thursday  went  by  without  a 
word  of  any  kind  of  news.  The  class  huddled  together 
at  recess,  taking  no  notice  whatever  of  Hoover,  who 
skulked  away  for  his  smoke,  followed  by  many  unloving 
eyes  but  without  audible  comment,  for  Shorty  had  con- 
veyed Pop's  dictum  to  the  class,  and  when  Pop  took  his 
boys  into  his  confidence,  as,  through  some  one  or  two 
of  their  number  he  sometimes  did,  and  told  them  thus 
and  so,  there  was  no  question.  That  class  at  least  ob- 
served his  wishes  to  the  letter.  Hoover  had  been  told 
to  return  to  school  and  no  questions  asked,  and  the  First 
Latin  was  virtually  pledged  to  the  arrangement. 

"  Aut  impendere  viam,  aut  poscere  causasy 

But  a  wretched-looking  Hoover  it  was  that  emerged 
from  the  Doctor's  closet  at  two  that  afternoon  and  slunk 
back  to  the  accustomed  place  at  the  foot  of  the  room. 
Even  Briggs  had  steered  clear  of  him,  and  every  one 
noted  how  Briggs  flitted  about  from  group  to  group 
during  recess,  his  old-time  "  cheek"  apparently  van- 
ished, his  effrontery  replaced  by  nervous  appeal.  He 
had  seized  on  Shorty,  as  the  boys  turned  out  for  recess, 
with  eager  question  about  Snipe,  but  the  youngster  im- 
patiently shook  him  off  and  shot  away,  light  of  foot  as 
he  was  heavy  of  heart,  and  the  eyes  of  the  others  fol- 
lowed him  as  he  turned  into  Twenty-fourth  Street,  for 
all  seemed  to  know  he  was  using  his  half-hour  to  speed 


gg  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

to  the  Lawrences'  for  news  of  Snipe.  Before .  the  bell 
recalled  them  he  was  back,  mournfully  shaking  his  head, 
and  they  trooped  up-stairs,  low-voiced  and  disconsolate. 
Hoover  slinking  in  alone,  last  of  all,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  his  shoulders  hunched,  his  eyes  flitting  ner- 
vously about.  All  through  the  half-hour  the  talk  had 
been  as  to  the  possible  cause  of  Snipe's  mysterious 
withdrawal  from  the  school  and  later  and  more  myste- 
rious disappearance.  Everybody  felt  that  John,  the 
janitor,  could  tell  something,  even  if  it  were  only  a  lie 
— or  a  pack  of  lies,  for  John's  veracity  was  a  thing  held 
up  to  scorn  at  the  end  of  a  hair.  But  John  kept  under 
the  wing  of  some  teacher  and  could  not  and  would  not 
be  approached,  and  John  looked  white  and  scared.  The 
Doctor  came  at  the  usual  time,  made  the  usual  impres- 
sive pause  at  the  doorway,  pointed,  as  usual,  to  the 
usual  foot  of  the  class,  who  blinked  and  shifted  rather 
more  than  ever.  Then  Pop  removed  his  hat  and  strode 
with  his  usual  deliberation  to  the  closet,  hung  it  on  its 
peg,  produced  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  and,  as  usual, 
wiped  the  glasses  with  his  spotless  cambric  handkerchief 
as  he  looked  over  the  notes  and  letters  on  his  desk, 
while  in  subdued,  half-hearted  way  the  recitation  went 
on.  Then,  with  only  a  glance  along  the  line  of  young 
faces,  all  studying  him  and  none  regarding  Halsey, 
who  at  the  moment  had  little  Beekman  on  the  rack, 
he  signalled  to  Shorty,  and  the  boy  sprang  to  his 
side. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  §9 

"Hear  anything?"  he  asked,  in  undertone,  as  though 
he  needed  not  to  be  told  that  Shorty  had  gone  to  in- 
quire. 

"  No  news,  sir,"  said  Loquax,  with  lips  that  twitched 
alarmingly.  "  Mrs.  Lawrence  will  be  here  right  after 
school." 

"  Then  you  stay.  I  may  need  you,"  said  the  Doctor, 
and  pointed  to  the  bench. 

Five  minutes  later,  after  rapidly  reading  the  brief  mis- 
sives on  his  desk,  the  Doctor  arose,  signalled  to  Hoover, 
ushered  him  into  the  lead-colored  closet,  followed  and 
shut  the  door,  from  which  quarter  of  an  hour  later 
Hoover  emerged,  as  has  been  said,  looking  limp  and 
woe-begone,  and  the  moment  school  was  over  slunk 
away  homeward  without  a  word.  By  this  time  the  First 
Latin  was  half  mad  with  mingled  curiosity  and  concern, 
when  an  elegantly  dressed  woman,  followed  by  a  man- 
servant with  a  compact  little  parcel  under  his  arm,  ap- 
peared at  the  Fourth  Avenue  entrance,  where  the  group 
still  lingered,  waiting  for  Shorty,  and  the  whisper  w^ent 
round  that  it  was  Mrs.  Lawrence,  Snipe's  aunt.  The 
excitement  rose  to  fever  heat.  Doremus  and  Satterlee, 
scouting  about  the  avenue  an  hour  later,  declared  that 
she  had  been  crying  when  she  came  forth  again  and 
walked  away  to  Twenty-fourth  Street.  Friday  came. 
Shorty  was  ten  minutes  late  at  first  recitation  and  failed 
in  every  lesson,  yet  not  a  word  of  rebuke  came  from  any 
one  of  the  masters.     Halsey  merely  inclined  his  dark 


go  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

head,  and  with  a  tinge  of  sympathy  in  his  tone,  wherein 
they  had  long  known  only  cutting  sarcasm  or  stern  ad- 
monition, said,  "  Never  mind  going  further  to-day."  At 
recess,  again,  the  boy  bounded  away  to  the  Lawrences' 
and  came  back  five  minutes  late,  with  face  as  hopeless 
as  before,  but  he  bore  a  note,  which  he  laid  upon  the 
Doctor's  desk,  and  without  a  word  accepted  the  "  ten 
marks  off"  for  his  delay,  which  at  any  other  time  would 
have  caused  a  storm  of  protest.  Pop  arrived  three  min- 
utes ahead  of  time,  saw  at  a  glance  that  little  Pythias 
was  down  near  the  foot  of  the  class,  and  made  not  the 
faintest  allusion  to  it.  He  had  barely  taken  his  seat  and 
looked  over  the  two  or  three  notes  when  a  heavy  tread 
was  heard  upon  the  stair,  and  despite  Halsey's  efforts 
the  recitation  hung  fire,  and  every  boy  stared  as  a  tall, 
grim-visaged,  angular  man  of  middle  age  stepped  within 
the  door,  and  in  another  moment  was  clasping  hands 
with  the  Doctor,  who  left  his  dais  to  greet  him.  There 
was  a  brief,  low-toned  exchange  of  words,  then  Halsey 
and  the  new-comer  caught  each  other's  eye,  despite  the 
former's  effort  to  stick  to  his  work,  and,  faintly  flushing, 
Halsey  arose,  and  they  too  shook  hands. 

"  How  have  they  done  to-day,  Mr.  Halsey  ?"  promptly 
queried  the  Doctor ;  and  as  nobody  had  done  well  or 
behaved  ill,  Halsey  hesitated.  He  could  not  dissemble. 
Pop  saw  the  hitch  and  cut  the  Gordian  knot. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  First  Latin,"  he  said,  "  the  school 
is  honored  by  a  visit  from  one  of  Columbia's  most  dis- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  91 

tinguished  alumni.  Shall  we  give  him  an  exhibition 
performance  in  the  Anabasis  or — take  half  holiday  ?" 

The  class  would  rather  stay  but  not  exhibit ;  and  so 
in  five  minutes  the  decks  are  clear,  and,  next  to  Beek- 
man,  the  shortest  boy  in  the  highest  class  is  being  pre- 
sented to  the  tall  graduate.  Before  the  name  was  men- 
tioned he  knew  that  it  must  be  Lawton's  step-father,  Mr. 
Park. 

First  there  has  to  be  another  conference  of  some  ten 
minutes'  duration  between  the  Doctor  and  his  visitor, 
who  had  taken  the  youngster's  hand  and  looked  down 
into  his  anxious  face  with  solemn,  speculative  eyes  and 
without  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  Shorty  feels  his  soul  well- 
ing up  in  mightier  sympathy  with  Snipe.  There  is  not 
a  thing  in  Park's  manner  to  invite  a  boy's  trust  or  con- 
fidence. Then  the  two  turn  to  Shorty,  and  he  is  sum- 
moned to  rejoin  them. 

"  The  Doctor  tells  me  you  have  been  my — er — young 
Lawton's  most  intimate  friend, — that  most  of  bis  hours 
out  of  school  have  been  spent  with  you.  I  had  heard 
as  much  before  through  his  mother  and  his  aunt,  whom 
I  believe  you  know, — Mrs.  Lawrence." 

The  boy  looks  up,  unspeaking,  his  blue  eyes  clouded. 
It  needs  but  faint  encouragement,  as  a  rule,  to  relax  his 
tongue ;  but  neither  in  word  nor  manner  does  he  find 
encouragement  here.  He  looks,  and  his  gaze  is  fearless, 
if  not  a  little  defiant,  but  he  answers  never  a  word. 

"  What  I  wish  to  know  is  something  of  your  haunts. 


92  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

occupations,  etc.  We  supposed  that  when  in  your  com- 
pany and  in  the  home  of  such  eminent  persons  as  your 
grandparents  our  boy  would  be  safe." 

Shorty  reddens.  Many  a  time  when  Snipe  would 
have  studied  he  has  coaxed  him  out  for  a  run  afar 
down-town,  a  visit  to  some  bell  tower  or  some  famous 
fire  company,  where  they  were  never  without  kindly 
welcome. 

"  I  gather,"  continues  Park,  "  from  what  has  been 
told  me  at  his  aunt's,  that  your  associates  were  not 
always  of  the  better  class  of  boys." 

Shorty  turns  redder  still.  Many  a  time  when  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  spend  an  evening  at  the  home  of 
Joy  or  Beekman,  Doremus  or  Satterlee,  Snipe  had  held 
back.  "  You  go,"  he  said  :  "  I'll  stay  here  and  read," 
and  it  wasn't  long  before  Shorty  fully  understood  the 
reason.  Snipe  could  not  bear  to  go  in  such  shabby  at- 
tire, but  he  had  no  better,  and  could  get  none  without 
importuning  his  mother.  No  one  in  the  houses  of  the 
fire  department  looked  or  said  critical  things  about  his 
clothes.  Snipe  was  just  as  welcome  as  Shorty,  and  the 
rough  fellows  of  the  red  shirts  seemed  to  enjoy  explain- 
ing everything  about  the  different  styles  of  engines  and 
all  the  intricacies  of  their  running  rules  to  the  brown- 
eyed  boy,  who  seemed  to  ponder  over  what  he  was  told 
and  to  remember  everything.  And  so  it  had  resulted 
that  whenever  a  cold  or  rainy  Saturday  came  round  and 
they  couldn't  play  ball,  big  Damon  and  little  Pythias  had 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  93 

spent  many  an  hour  going  from  one  engine-  or  hose- 
house  to  another,  studying  the  different  "machines," 
learning  to  know  the  foremen  or  leaders  of  the  rival 
companies,  and  often  climbing  to  the  tall  perches  of  the 
bell  towers  and  gazing  out  through  the  watcher's  long 
glass  over  the  far-spreading  city,  the  smoky  shores  of 
Jersey  or  Long  Island,  the  thicket  of  masts  bordering 
the  rivers,  and  the  distant  ghmmering  bay.  It  was  all 
of  vivid  interest.  True,  they  heard  language  that  was 
eminently  unclassical.  They  penetrated  into  sections 
of  the  great  city  where  the  fashionable  garments  of  their 
wealthier  schoolmates  would  have  become  the  target  for 
the  satire  of  the  saloons  and  the  missiles  of  the  street 
Arabs.  They  saw  and  heard  all  manner  of  things  at 
which  Aunt  Lawrence  would  have  shrunk  in  dismay, 
and  concerning  which  Shorty's  own  people  were  some- 
times apprehensive.  But  as  neither  boy  cared  to  imitate 
the  language  or  the  manners  thus  discovered,  it  was  held 
that  no  great  harm  resulted.  That  they  might  have  been 
far  better  employed  every  right-thinking  moralist  will 
doubtless  declare,  and  that  they  would  have  been  better 
employed  even  Snipe,  down  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
would  have  admitted — but  for  his  clothes.  It  is  aston- 
ishing how  much  one's  garb  has  to  do  with  one's  good- 
ness, even  among  school-boys. 

And  all  this  was  passing  through  Shorty's  mind  as  the 
steely  blue  eyes  of  Mr.  Park  were  searching  his  flushing 
face,  and  more  things,  too.     With  all  her  ambition  and 


94  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

moderate  wealth,  Mrs.  Lawrence  occupied  a  social  posi- 
tion just  a  plane  below  that  on  which  moved  Shorty's 
kith  and  kin.  Beautiful  old  homes  on  the  lower  avenue 
and  around  Washington  Square  where  they  were  wel- 
come knew  not  Mrs.  Lawrence.  She  had  encouraged, 
unquestioning,  Snipe's  growing  intimacy  with  his  little 
friend,  because  it  "  brought  the  families  together,"  as  she 
once  gushingly  explained  to  Shorty's  favorite  aunt,  and, 
as  she  confided  to  her  husband,  might  lead  to  even  more. 
Much,  therefore,  did  she  question  Snipe  as  to  what  took 
place  at  table,  in  the  parlor  and  music-room  of  the  big 
household  in  Fourteenth  Street,  and,  in  the  engrossing 
interest  she  felt  in  the  doings  of  certain  of  its  elder  in- 
mates, lost  all  thought  of  those  of  the  boys  themselves. 
Not  until  within  the  past  few  days  had  she  been  re- 
c^uired  to  give  an  account  of  her  stewardship,  and  now 
the  butler's  revelations,  gathered  mainly,  as  he  stated, 
from  market  conferences  with  the  magnate  who  pre- 
sided over  the  board  at  Shorty's,  had  filled  her  with 
dismay. 

"Them  boys,  ma'am,"  was  that  dignitary's  compre- 
hensive summing  up,  "  do  be  seeing  the  worst  society  in 
New  York,  'stead  of  rejoicin'  in  the  best — with  their 
relatives." 

"  You  do  not  answer,"  at  last  says  Park.  "  Could  you 
find  no  better  way  of  spending  your  play  hours  than 
going  around  among  low  firemen  ?" 

"  We  spent  'em  at  base  ball  when  the  weather  was 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  95 

good,"  says  Shorty,  shortly,  and  there  is  glowing  temper 
in  the  tone  which  the  Doctor  knows  of  old,  and  he  sees 
it  is  time  to  interpose. 

"  I  have  never  said  anything  to  you  about  this,  my 
young  friend,"  says  he,  "  because  I  found  that  your  rela- 
tives knew  all  about  it,  and  thought  you  capable  of  keep- 
ing out  of  trouble ;  but  I  did  not  know  Lawton  was  so 
often  with  you.  What  Mr.  Park  wishes  to  know  is  why 
you  spent  so  much  time  among  the  firemen  and  so  little 
among  your  classmates  ?" 

Shorty  turns  to  the  Doctor  fearlessly.  Him  he  knows 
and  trusts.  Twice  for  boyish  misdemeanors  has  the 
great  teacher  bidden  him  take  his  books  and  leave  the 
school,  and  both  times  has  he  reinstated  him,  as  he  had 
others,  within  twelve  hours.  "  I  don't  care  for  these 
Sammy-go-softly  boys,"  he  had  confided  to  Shorty.  "  I 
don't  mind  a  little  fun,  but  it  must  not  take  the  form  of 
impertinence  to  teachers  or  disobedience  of  their  orders. 
If  they  are  unjust.  Til  straighten  it  out  myself,  but  don't 
you  try."  Like  most  of  the  boys  in  the  First  Latin, 
Shorty  knows  he  has  the  Doctor's  sympathy  and  friend- 
ship, and  so  the  answer  comes  pat.  "  The  reason  was 
because  he  had  no  money  and  was  ashamed  of  his 
clothes." 

Mr.  Park  is  severely  judicial.  School-boy  impetuosity 
must  not  be  permitted  to  ruffle  him.  With  great  dignity 
he  begins, — 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  young  lads  having  unlimited 


96  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

pocket-money  or  fashionable  clothes,  much  less  so  in 
the  case  of  a  lad  who  must  make  his  own  way  in  the 
world,  as  George  will  have  to  do." 

"  That's  what  Snipe  said,"  was  Shorty's  quick  reply. 
"  Most  of  the  class  have  both,  however ;  and  as  he  had 
neither  and  I  only  a  little,  we  couldn't  keep  up  with  the 
crowd,  so  we  spent  our  time  together." 

"  I  am  amazed  that  your  grandparents  should  approve 
of  such  pernicious  association  for  so  young  a  lad  as  you," 
says  Park,  shifting  the  point  of  attack,  for  he  feels  that 
a  revelation  is  imminent,  and  doesn't  care  to  have  the 
rector  know  how  little  he  gave  and  how  much  he  de- 
manded. But  it  is  bad  fencing,  for  Shorty  "  disengages" 
with  equal  skill  and  follows  with  a  palpable  hit.  Ig- 
noring Park's  comment,  he  faces  the  Doctor  again. 

"  You  know,  sir,  that  there  isn't  another  boy  in  the 
class  has  to  get  his  boots  and  gloves  and  pay  his  way 
on  fifty  cents  a  week."  And  Pop,  inwardly  convulsed, 
feels  compelled  to  reprove. 

"  Tut,  tut !"  he  says.  "  These  are  matters  for  parents 
and  guardians  to  settle.  Little  boys  must  hold  their 
tongues."  And  when  Pop  means  to  be  especially  crush- 
ing he  "  little  boys"  the  First  Latin. 

"Any  proper  and  necessary  expense  incurred  by 
George  would  have  been  promptly  allowed,"  says  Park, 
loftily,  "  had  he  seen  fit  to  confide  in  me  or  in  his 
mother." 

"  He  couldnH  tell  his  mother,  even  when  he  was  nearly 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  97 

barefoot,"  blurts  out  Shorty.  "  She  wrote  him  last  year 
she'd  rather  sell  her  watch  than  ask  you  for  money  for 
him !"  And  now  Park,  too,  reddens,  for  he  realizes  that 
the  statement  is  probably  true.  Hastily  he  returns  to 
the  charge.  This  boy  knows  and  talks  too  much.  It 
isn't  safe  to  allow  him  the  floor.  Pop  turns  away,  with 
evidences  of  earthquake-like  disturbances  underneath 
that  silken  waistcoat. 

"■  Then  this  is  the  excuse,"  says  Park,  severely,  "  for 
his  resorting  to  pawnbrokers — with  stolen  property." 

And  Shorty  bursts  out  indignantly,  "  He  never  stole 
a  thing,  or  sold  it  either !"  And  now  his  eyes  look 
pleadingly  to  the  Doctor  as  though  to  say,  "  You  know 
this  can't  be  so  !     Why  do  you  let  him  lie  ?" 

And  as  though  to  answer  the  appeal  and  come  to  the 
rescue  of  a  maligned  and  beloved  pupil.  Pop  turns  in- 
stantly, every  sign  of  merriment  gone. 

"  Surely  you  are  misinformed.  Park,"  he  says. 
"  There  was  nothing  but  some  last  year's  books  and  his 
father's  old  shotgun.     He  told  us  everything." 

"  He  didn't  tell  you  everything,"  answers  Park,  with 
emphasis.  "  How  much  of  this  is  due  to  evil  associa- 
tions you  can  judge  better  than  I ;  but  look  here,"  and 
from  a  bulging  pocket  of  his  overcoat  he  produces  a 
package  wrapped  in  a  red  silk  handkerchief.  A  minute 
later  and  he  lays  upon  the  desk  Seymour's  handsome 
gold  pencil-case,  an  old-fashioned  watch  and  chain,  such 
as  women  wore  twenty  years  earlier,  and  some  cameo 

7 


98  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

earrings,  with  breastpin  to  match.  "  These,"  says  he, 
solemnly,  "  were  recovered  this  morning.  They  repre- 
sent only  a  small  portion  of  what  his  aunt,  his  benefac- 
tress, has  found  to  be  missing  from  her  box  of  disused 
trinkets  and  heirlooms.  The  boy  was  shrewd  enough 
to  confine  his  stealings  to  things  that  wouldn't  have  been 
missed  for  weeks  or  months,  perhaps,  had  not  a  faithful 
domestic's  suspicions  been  aroused.  This  will  be  a  sore 
blow  to  his  poor  mother.  It  has  almost  prostrated  his 
aunt,  and  I  dare  say  we  don't  begin  to  know  the  worst. 
Has  nothing  been  missed  by  his  classmates  here  at 
school?" 

There  are  beads  of  sweat  on  the  Doctor's  pale  fore- 
head as  he  turns  away,  Joy's  watch  instantly  occurring 
to  him.  As  for  Shorty,  in  distress  and  consternation, 
mingled  with  vehement  unbelief,  for  once  in  his  life  he 
is  dumb. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Another  week  began.  Pop's  boys  gathered  on  Mon- 
day morning,  and  the  first  question  on  every  lip  was  for 
Snipe,  and  all  in  vain.  He  had  disappeared  as  from  the 
face  of  the  earth.  Shorty  looked  an  inch  shorter  and 
several  pounds  lighter.  His  chatter  was  silenced,  his 
young  heart  heavy  as  lead.  He  had  had  two  miserable 
days,  and  there  were  more  before  him.  He  had  been 
closely  questioned,  both  at  home  and  at  the  Lawrences', 
over  and  over  again,  as  to  all  their  haunts  and  habits, 
which  he  and  poor  Snipe  had  shared  in  their  leisure 
hours,  and  stoutly  he  maintained  that  never  had  Snipe 
entered  a  pawnshop  while  they  were  together, — never 
had  he  mentioned  such  a  thing.  The  one  piece  of  in- 
formation he  could  give,  that  went  to  confirm  the  sus- 
picions attaching  to  the  missing  boy,  was  that  during  the 
three  weeks  previous  to  his  disappearance  George  had 
seemed  to  have  much  more  money  than  usual.  He  had 
ordered  a  new  pair  of  shoes,  had  bought  some  collars 

99 


100  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  neckties,  had  "  stood  treat"  two  or  three  times,  and 
had  got  Shorty  to  go  with  him  to  a  great  clothier's, 
much  affected  by  the  school,  to  try  on  some  overcoats. 
He  had  totally  outgrown  the  one  he  brought  from  home 
two  years  previous,  and  was  going  without  one,  and 
seemed  divided  in  his  mind  whether  to  buy  a  new  one 
for  winter  or  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  Another  thing 
Shorty  had  to  tell  w^as  that  of  late  Snipe  had  missed 
several  evenings  when  Shorty  expected  him,  or  had 
come  very  late  and  said  he  had  been  of  an  errand.  Of 
course,  it  was  now  apparent  to  poor  Mrs.  Lawrence  that 
her  nephew's  suddenly  discovered  crimes  were  all  due 
to  her  intrusting  him  entirely  to  Shorty  and  his  kindred, 
and  Mr.  Park  was  oracularly  severe  in  his  comments  on 
youthful  depravity  of  so  glaring  a  character  that  it  could 
be  satisfied  with  no  association  less  disreputable  than 
that  of  the  rowdies  of  the  fire  department.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  make  some  such  assertion  to  Shorty's  uncle, 
who  was  called  into  a  conference,  and  this  was  lucky 
for  Shorty, — one  of  the  few  lucky  things  that  happened 
to  him  that  sorrowful  winter.  Ordinarily  he  would 
doubtless  have  been  made  the  recipient  of  several  lec- 
tures of  the  same  tenor  as  Mr.  Park's,  only  less  radical, 
but  the  moment  Park  ventured  to  assert  that  his  step-son 
had  been  led  astray,  and  that  Shorty's  kindred  had  shut 
their  eyes  to  the  boys'  misdoings  and  let  them  go  their 
wicked  ways,  he  stirred  up  the  whole  tribe  and  put  them 
on  the  defensive.     Uncles  and  aunts  might  even  have 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  JQl 

thought  somewhat  as  did  Park,  but  not  after  he  laid  his 
accusation  at  their  door.  Shorty  submitted  his  whole 
cabinet  of  possessions  to  prove  that  nothing  of  his  was 
missing,  except  one  pair  of  gold  sleeve-links,  which  he 
had  lent  Snipe,  and  gladly  lent  him.  "  If  Snipe  ever 
stole,  why  didn't  he  steal  my  watch?"  he  chokingly 
asked.  "  It  was  as  good  as  Joy's,  and  hadn't  any  name 
on  it,  as  his  had,  and  he  could  have  sold  it  easier."  All 
the  evidence  in  creation  couldn't  make  that  butt-headed 
boy  believe  that  Snipe  was  a  thief.  What  he  probably 
had  stolen,  since  they  were  missing  from  his  room,  were 
his  school-books  of  previous  years,  a  set  of  Marryat's 
novels  that  had  belonged  to  his  father,  and  his  father's 
old  shotgun,  which  he  had  brought  to  New  York  with 
him,  and  had  no  use  for  whatever.  Perhaps  he  was 
thinking,  poor  fellow,  of  selling  his  father's  old  watch, 
a  bulky,  yellow  "  turnip,"  too  big  for  him  to  wear,  in 
order  to  get  the  money  to  buy  those  sorely  needed 
clothes.  Shorty  well  remembered  Snipe's  story  of  how 
his  mother  cried  during  that  summer's  vacation  because 
she  could  give  him  so  little  when  he  needed  so  much ; 
but  Park's  dominion  was  absolute.  "  That  boy  must 
learn  the  value  of  money,"  he  constantly  said.  "He 
must  know  as  I  knew  what  it  is  to  plan  and  contrive  to 
make  five  cents  do  the  work  of  twenty-five.  Then  he 
may  amount  to  something."  Park  said  the  boy's  clothes 
were  better  than  he  wore  in  his  school-days,  when  he 
had  to  sweep  shop  and  make  the  fires  and  sleep  in  an 


;[02  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

attic,  without  a  curtain  to  his  window  or  a  rag  to  the 
floor.  Shorty  began  to  realize  at  last  how  great  must 
have  been  Snipe's  temptations,  and  still  he  wouldn't 
believe  he  stole.  Even  the  sight  of  Seymour's  pencil 
failed  to  convince  him, — even  the  fact  that  Snipe  had 
certainly  run  away,  if  indeed  he  had  not  made  away 
with  himself. 

But  in  the  class  there  was  gloom  and  sadness  almost 
equal  to  Shorty's,  and  by  Monday  noon  all  the  story 
was  out  and  much  besides.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
virtuous  amaze  of  Briggs.  He  always  had  suspected 
Lawton,  "  but  you  fellows  would  not  believe."  Nothing 
more  sardonic  than  Hoover's  grinning  face  could  be  im- 
agined. His  blinking  eyes  seemed  fairly  to  snap  with 
comfort  over  the  contemplation  of  Lawton's  turpitude. 
By  this  time  it  was  being  asserted  that  Snipe  had  stolen 
his  aunt's  diamonds,  Joy's  watch,  and  every  missing 
item,  big  or  little,  that  had  disappeared  during  the  three 
years  of  his  membership  in  the  school.  John,  the  jani- 
tor, was  overhauled,  questioned  and  cross-questioned. 
He  dodged,  parried,  broke  away,  but  by  implication  con- 
fessed that  he  found  out  that  Lawton  was  going  to  a 
certain  pawnshop  on  Third  Avenue,  and  had  been  there 
two  or  three  times  within  the  previous  month.  Park 
paid  the  school  another  visit  that  afternoon  and  had 
brief  conference  with  the  Doctor,  looked  steadily  and 
with  stern  disapproval  at  poor  Shorty,  sitting  midway 
down  the  line  and  drifting  gradually  towards  the  foot. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  IQS 

The  First  Latin  took  Park's  measure,  as  they  had 
Meeker's,  and  disapproved  of  him.  They  wondered 
would  he  attempt  to  address  them.  If  he  did,  not  one 
applauding  hand  could  there  be,  except  Briggs's  or  pos- 
sibly Hoover's,  if  he  referred  to  Snipe's  to-be-expected 
fall.  Snipe  might  have  fallen,  but  if  ever  a  boy  was 
pushed  and  driven  over  a  precipice  he  was,  said  they, 
and,  take  them  by  and  large,  the  First  Latin  would  have 
gone  out  of  their  way  to  shake  hands  with  Snipe  or  to 
avoid  shaking  hands  with  his  step-father.  Park  left  be- 
fore school  closed,  but  to  Joy's  request  of  the  Doctor,  in 
the  name  of  the  class,  for  news  of  Snipe,  the  answer 
was  given  that  they  still  had  nothing  authentic,  though 
they  thought  they  had  a  clue.  He  had  once  spent  a 
month  with  some  kinsfolk  of  his  poor  mother's  in  Penn- 
sylvania, and  Park  opined  that  he  would  presently  be 
heard  of  there,  where  his  peculations,  he  might  hope, 
had  not  yet  become  known. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  of  the  boys  walking  together 
down  the  avenue  that  afternoon.  Shorty  in  their  midst. 
They  were  plying  him  with  questions  and  conjectures. 
No,  he  was  not  going  to  the  Lawrences',  he  said.  He 
would  never,  probably,  go  there  again.  No,  he  hadn't 
been  around  among  the  engine-houses.  He  didn't  at  all 
believe  in  Snipe's  guilt,  and  wouldn't  believe  he  was 
hiding  on  that  account.  How  did  he  account  for  Sey- 
mour's pencil?  He  couldn't  account  for  it.  All  he  could 
say  was,  that  he'd  bet  anything  he  owned  that  Snipe 


104  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

wasn't  a  thief,  and  some  day  they'd  find  it  out,  and  find 
out  who  was.  It  so  happened  that  Briggs  had  gone  on 
ahead  with  Hoover,  the  two  lads  with  their  heads  close 
together  in  eager  conference,  but  at  Eighteenth  Street 
he  held  back  and  stood  waiting  for  the  little  knot  of  ex- 
cited boys.  Bertram  and  Joy  were  of  the  lot,  tall  young 
fellows  on  whose  upper  lips  the  down  was  sprouting 
and  who  on  Sundays  went  to  church  in  their  first  top- 
hats.  They  were  the  elders,  the  senate  of  the  school, 
and  at  sight  of  Briggs  they  muttered  malediction  and 
cautioned  silence. 

"  Say,  Shorty !"  cried  the  pachyderm,  as  Pop  had 
named  him,  "  twice  last  week  I  went  to  your  house  and 
asked  for  you,  and  the  man  said  you  weren't  home. 
You  were  up  in  your  room  with  Snipe  Lawton,  and  I 
know  it.  I  watched,  and  saw  you  come  out  with  him 
half  an  hour  later.  What  you  'fraid  of?  Think  I  was 
policeman  with  a  search-Avarrant  ?" 

The  little  fellow's  blue  eyes  blazed  up,  but  Bertram 
grabbed  him  and  Joy  turned  savagely  on  the  leering 
tormentor.  '^  Shut  up  !  you  sneaking  whelp  !"  he  cried, 
"  or  I'll  smash  you  here  and  now !"  And  glaring  and 
red-faced  in  his  wrath,  Joy  looked  fully  capable  of 
doing  it. 

"  Why,  what  have  I  done  ?"  sneered  Briggs.  "  He's 
the  fellow  that  stood  by  the  thief  that's  been  robbing 
us  right  and  left,  and  didn't  dare  let  his  own  classmate 
come  up  in  his  room." 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  105 

"  You  used  to  ring  the  bell  and  bolt  up  there  the  mo- 
ment the  door  was  opened,  you  cad !"  answered  Joy, 
"just  as  you  did  at  my  house  and  others  until  orders 
had  to  be  given  not  to  let  you  in.  Get  out  of  the  way ! 
No  one  in  this  party  wants  to  be  seen  in  the  same  street 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  snarled  Briggs.  "  If  you  want  to 
run  with  thieves  and  pickpockets  you're  welcome.  I 
don't." 

But  now  there  was  a  crash  on  the  broad  flagstones 
as  the  red-labelled,  calf-bound,  tightly-strapped  volumes 
of  Virgil  and  Xenophon  went  spinning  to  the  curb, 
and,  wrenching  himself  free  from  Bertram's  relaxing 
grasp.  Shorty  flew  at  Sandy  Briggs  like  a  bull  terrier 
at  some  marauding  hound.  Quick,  alert,  active,  the 
surest-footed  boy  in  the  school,  there  was  no  dodging 
his  spring.  The  whack  of  the  leather  on  the  flagging 
was  echoed  on  the  instant  by  the  biff-bapp  of  two 
knotty  fists,  and  Briggs  reeled  back  before  the  sudden 
storm  and  tumbled  into  the  gutter.  Instantly  the  others 
threw  themselves  on  Shorty  or  between  the  two. 
Briggs  bounded  up  in  a  fury,  the  blood  streaming  from 
his  nose,  rage  and  blasphemy  rushing  from  his  swelhng 
lips.  He  was  ready  enough  to  fight  a  boy  so  much 
smaller,  and  disdained  Julian's  prompt  proffer  of  him- 
self as  Shorty's  substitute.  A  pohceman  at  the  Everett 
corner  came  sprinting  across  at  sight  of  the  swift- 
gathering  crowd.     Joy  and  Julian  saw  him,  and  grab- 


106  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

bing  Briggs,  darted  with  him  down  the  stairway  to  the 
Clarendon's  barber-shop.  Bertram,  Beekman,  and  Gray 
snatched  up  Shorty  and  Shorty's  books  and  fled  with 
him  eastward  towards  Lexington  Avenue.  The  row 
was  over  as  quick  as  it  began,  but  not,  alas !  the  results. 
"  I'll  pay  that  blackguardly  little  cur  for  this, — you'll 
see  if  I  don't !"  shrieked  Briggs  at  his  captors,  and  they 
all  knew  that  even  as  he  could  dissemble,  that  fellow 
could  hate. 

Late  that  afternoon  the  Doctor  sat  in  the  midst  of  his 
books  and  manuscripts  in  the  solemn  library,  the  sanc- 
tum in  which  he  rarely  permitted  himself  to  be  dis- 
turbed, yet  he  lifted  his  massive  head  and  listened 
eagerly  as  a  servant  entered  with  a  message. 

"  Send  him  right  in  here,"  said  he,  throwing  down 
his  pen,  and  the  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
when  in  came  Shorty,  bounding,  breathless,  excited, 
and  with  snapping  eyes.  "  Ha,  lad  !  So  you've  heard 
from  Lawton !  What  does  he  say  ?"  And  trembling, 
rejoicing,  triumphing,  yet  troubled,  the  youngster  read 
from  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"Dear  Shorty, — I  couldn't  stand  it.  I  had  to  go, 
and,  please  God,  I'll  never  come  back,  only  I  want  you 
to  know  the  reason  and  you  won't  blame  me  much.  I 
begged  Halsey  not  to  tell  the  Doctor  or  anybody  what 
that  low  sneak  of  a  janitor  told  him.  It's  no  disgrace 
to  be  so  poor  that  a  fellow  has  to  pawn  his  old  books 


I  cnuldii't  ,-tainl  it       1  had  t(_ 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  107 

and  things  to  get  shoes,  and  you  know  how  I  was  fixed  ; 
you  know  that  I  was  on  my  bare  feet,  almost,  and  that 
my  clothes  wouldn't  cover  me.  I  couldn't  ask  a  penny 
of  Aunt  Lawrence,  and  they  didn't  seem  to  see  or  care 
how  I  looked.  I  couldn't  worry  mother  any  more,  so 
what  was  there  to  do  ?  They  gave  me  a  shilling  apiece 
for  the  school-books,  and  then  I  took  over  my  Marry- 
ats — I  hadn't  even  read  some  of  'em— and  got  twenty 
cents  apiece,  and  finally  father's  old  shot-gun.  It  was 
mine  ;  mother  had  given  it  to  me.  It  was  no  use  to  me. 
Why  shouldn't  I  sell  it  and  buy  clothes  ?  I  didn't  know 
it  was  so  costly  and  valuable,  but  Aunt  Lawrence  says 
now  it  was  worth  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  It 
came  from  London.  I  thought  I  was  lucky  to  get  seven 
dollars  for  it.  Of  course  old  Binny  saw  me  one  night 
["  Binny  is  the  butler,"  explained  Shorty.  "  He  hated 
both  of  us,  I  suppose,  having  to  answer  door  so  much, — 
Aunt  Lawrence  wouldn't  let  Snipe  have  a  key"],  and  I 
guess  he  must  have  sneaked  after  me  ;  but  when  Halsey 
told  me  it  was  known  I  visited  the  pawnbroker's  (it 
wasn't  a  pawnbroker's.  It  was  just  a  second-hand 
store),  and  demanded  to  know  what  I'd  sold,  and  talked 
of  the  disgrace  and  all  that,  and  hinted  things  about 
Joy's  watch  and  other  missing  items  I  never  even  heard 
of,  I  told  him  the  whole  thing,  and  begged  him  not  to 
make  trouble  for  me, — I  had  enough.  But  he  said  the 
Doctor  must  know,  and  the  Doctor  sent  me  round  with 
him  and  I  showed  him  the  shop,  and  he  rowed  the  man 


108  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

in  charge  and  said  my  aunt  must  be  told  at  once.  You 
never  heard  such  a  row  as  she  made, — the  shame  and 
the  disgrace  I'd  brought  on  them  all.  She  could  never 
show  her  face  in  society  again.  Selling  my  father's 
books !  my  father's  beautiful  gun,  that  my  poor  mother 
had  so  proudly  intrusted  to  me !  Why,  Shorty,  she 
drove  me  nearly  mad.  Even  Halsey  tried  to  stop  her 
after  a  while,  and  to  say  it  didn't  begin  to  be  as  bad  as 
she  made  it,  but  she  ordered  me  to  my  room,  and  then 
came  up  and  jawed  until  I  was  near  crazy,  and  then 
when  she'd  talked  herself  out  up  comes  Cousin  Maud, 
and  she  just  belched  fire  and  brimstone  for  an  hour ; 
and  after  dinner  that  night  Uncle  Lawrence, — why,  he 
never  so  much  as  noticed  me  generally,  and  you  know 
how  he  used  to  pass  us  on  the  street  and  never  see  us, 
— he  went  on  at  a  perfectly  infernal  rate.  I  was  an  in- 
grate  and  a  thief  and  a  consorter  with  the  lowest  order 
of  humanity  (rough  on  you  that  was,  Shorty),  and  when 
he  got  through  I'm  blessed  if  they  didn't  wind  up  by 
sending  my  little  cousin,  Queenie, — I  always  liked  her, 
— but  she  went  on  and  preached  about  disgrace  and 
shame  just  like  Aunt  Lawrence,  and  how  good  they'd 
all  been  to  me,  and  how  shocking  was  my  ingratitude ! 
She  supposed  I  spent  the  money  in  liquor  and  cigars  for 
my  rowdy  friends  (I  did  stand  treat  to  milk  and  custard 
pie  as  much  as  twice) ;  and  then  Aunt  Lawrence  comes 
up  again,  and  read  me  what  she'd  written  to  mother, 
and  that  was  the  last  pound.     I  had  five  dollars  left  that 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  IQQ 

I  was  saving  for  some  clothes,  and  planning  to  sell  the 
old  watch  and  get  the  rest  of  the  money  I  needed,  but 
she  took  that  away,  lest  I  should  steal  that  too,  she  said, 
and  I  was  to  be  sent  back  to  Rhinebeck  as  soon  as 
mother  could  be  heard  from.  She'd  been  to  the  Doctor 
and  told  him  I  don't  know  what,  and  came  back  and 
said  the  Doctor  and  teachers  as  much  as  declared  they 
thought  me  the  thief  that  stole  Joy's  watch.  She  told 
me  to  go  and  say  good-by  to  you  and  confess  every- 
thing, but  I  shall  never  disgrace  the  home  where  I  was 
so  kindly  welcomed  by  setting  foot  inside  its  doors  again. 
I've  started  out  for  myself.  Shorty,  dear  old  boy,  and  I'll 
make  a  living,  never  you  fear,  and  I'll  write  to  you 
sometimes  when  I  can  do  so  without  being  followed  or 
found  out.  Don't  let  the  fellows  think  too  mean  of  me. 
Here's  the  one  thing  I've  got  to  confess,  and  you  tell  it 
to  Seymour.  I  found  his  pencil  under  the  fourth  bench 
that  afternoon  Beach  kept  me  in  two  hours  for  welting 
Beekman  with  a  putty-ball,  and  instead  of  giving  it  to 
Beach,  as  the  rule  is,  I  stuck  it  in  my  pocket  and  never 
thought  of  it  again  until  next  morning,  just  as  I  got  to 
school  and  saw  Seymour.  I  hunted  in  my  pocket  and 
it  was  gone.  I  ran  home  at  recess  and  hunted  every- 
where, and  asked  the  girl  who  makes  believe  do  up  my 
room,  but  couldn't  find  a  trace  of  it.  That  was  two 
weeks  ago,  and  all  this  time  I've  been  hoping  to  find  it,  or 
when  I  got  the  money  on  the  watch  to  buy  him  another 
and  tell  him  the  whole  story.     Now  I  can't  do  either. 


110 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO     BATTLE-FIELD. 


"Good-by,  Shorty,  dear  old  fellow!  Say  good-by 
to  Bonner  and  Hank  and  Keating  and  Joe  Hutton. 
Forty's  boys  were  always  kind  to  us,  weren't  they? 
And  if  any  of  the  class  feel  that  I  am  not  altogether  a 
disgrace  to  them,  give  them  a  bit  of  love,  from  yours  till 
death.  Snipe." 

The  little  reader  was  almost  sobbing  when  he  got 
through,  but  the  Doctor  was  on  his  feet  and  listening  in 
undisguised  interest  and  sympathy. 

"  But  that  pencil  was  found  among  those  things  Mr. 
Park  brought  to  the  school !"  he  exclaimed.  Then,  as  a 
sudden  light  seemed  to  flash  over  the  case,  he  took  the 
missive  in  his  big,  white  hand  and  pored  over  the  last 

two  of  its  many  pages.    "  You  have  shown  this  to ?" 

he  began. 

"  Nobody,  sir.  Nobody  was  at  home.  I  brought  it 
right  to  you." 

''  Then  leave  it  with  me  and  say  nothing  about  it  till 
I  tell  you.     I  will  see  your  grandfather  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A  WEEK  later  the  First  Latin  was  divided  against  itself, 
— a  most  unusual  thing.  That  it  generally  despised 
Hoover  and  hated  Briggs  was  an  old  story.  These  two 
of  the  twenty-seven  had  long  been  excluded  from  the 
fellowship  of  the  twenty-five  ;  but  that  twenty-five  was 
now  reduced  to  twenty-four  by  the  loss  of  Snipe,  and 
the  twenty-four  was  split,  much  to  the  comfort  of  the 
two  outsiders.  A  grievous  burden  had  been  imposed 
on  Shorty  when  the  Doctor  bade  him  tell  no  one  about 
Snipe's  letter, — that  he  had  good  reason  and  desired  to 
investigate  on  his  own  account.  Shorty  couldn't  listen 
to  an  insinuation  of  any  kind  against  his  chum,  and 
there  were  members  of  the  class  who  now  couldn't  help 
entertaining  suspicion  and  saying  so.  Shorty's  inten- 
tions of  observing  the  Doctor's  caution  were  of  the  best, 
but  indignation  would  find  vent,  and  so  would  the  boy 
nature  that  impelled  him  to  say  that  he  had  information 
when  Snipe's  accusers  had  not.     Then  he  had  to  lose  a 

111 


112  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

point  and  admit  that  his  knowledge  was  of  such  a  char- 
acter that  it  must  be  kept  concealed  awhile,  which  state- 
ment many  of  the  class  decided  to  accept,  but  not  a  few 
to  deride.  Turner  was  one  of  the  latter,  and  at  recess 
one  day  openly  taunted  Shorty  with  professing  what  he 
couldn't  prove.  Briggs  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
knot  of  excited  lads  at  the  first  sign  of  trouble.  He 
was  still  raging  in  his  heart  against  Shorty  because  of 
the  stinging  blows  that  sent  him  reeling  into  the  gutter 
the  previous  Friday  afternoon.  Here  was  a  chance  for 
vicarious  vengeance.  Shorty  was  half  a  head  smaller 
than  his  long-armed  accuser.  Briggs  knew  that  Joy, 
Julian,  any  of  the  bigger  members  of  the  class,  would 
pounce  on  him  if  he  dared  lay  hand  on  the  "  little  'un," 
but  Turner  was  nearer  the  youngster's  weight.  Those 
were  the  days  when  Heenan  and  Sayers  were  the 
models  of  the  fistic  art,  when  Charlier's  boys  at  Wood's 
gymnasium  or  Pop's  at  Ottignon's  were  accustomed  to 
putting  on  the  gloves  with  the  master,  and  school  affairs 
were  settled  in  the  neighboring  stable  after  the  manner 
of  Tom  Brown  and  Slogger  Williams  in  "  School-Days 
at  Rugby."  Cooler  heads  in  the  little  crowd  counselled 
peace  and  strove  to  stem  the  angry  torrent  of  words  be- 
tween the  boys.  Even  Turner  himself,  seeing  Shorty's 
rage,  would  probably  have  been  willing  to  take  back 
what  he  had  said,  but  Briggs  had  other  plans.  Stooping 
underneath  the  elbows  of  the  boys  at  Turner's  back,  he 
suddenly   straightened   up,  giving  Turner  a  powerful 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  113 

shove  that  sent  him  lunging  against  his  fuming  httle 
antagonist,  and  like  a  flash  came  the  first  blow,  the 
counter,  an  instant's  clinch,  and  then,  as  the  boys  broke 
away,  two  stinging  whacks  before  the  elders  could  inter- 
pose. "  Come  round  to  the  stable  and  finish  it !"  yelled 
Shorty,  in  his  fury.  "Come  on  yourself!"  shouted 
Turner ;  and,  despite  the  pleadings  of  those  who  hated 
to  see  class  harmony  destroyed,  away  went  the  excited 
crowd,  Hoover  and  Briggs  leering  and  grinning  after 
them,  while  John,  the  janitor,  bolted  miserably  up-stairs 
to  give  warning  to  Othello,  who  had  determined  there 
should  be  no  more  stable-fights,  and  who  came  breath- 
less into  the  arena  just  as  the  combatants  had  shed 
their  coats  and  collars  and,  with  clinched  fists  and 
flashing  eyes,  were  facing  each  other  for  business.  The 
ring  broke  and  scattered  pell-mell  at  sound  of  Halsey's 
voice,  but  the  principals  were  caught.  Recess  was  or- 
dered suspended.  The  bell  summoned  the  class  in- 
doors, and,  in  sullen  silence,  slowly  the  boys  obeyed. 
Shorty's  prominent  nose  had  suffered  in  the  prelimi- 
nary skirmish,  and  he  had  to  go  and  stanch  the  blood. 
Turner,  scowling,  was  sent  to  the  foot  of  the  class,  where 
Hoover  welcomed  him  with  a  malignant  grin,  and  there, 
along  its  accustomed  line,  sat  the  First  Latin  in  gloom 
and  despond,  while  the  head-master  penned  brief  mem- 
oranda of  the  circumstance.  Everybody  felt  there  would 
be  tragedy  when  the  Doctor  came.  "  The  next  boys  I 
hear  of  as  fighting   around   school,"  he  had  said  the 

8 


114  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

week  before,  "  I'll  pack  'em  home  to  their  parents." 
And  yet  the  First  Latin  had  reason  to  believe  the  Doctor 
had  nothing  but  disdain  for  boys  who  quarrelled  and 
called  names  and  perhaps  cuffed,  scratched,  or  kicked, 
and  couldn't  or  wouldn't  fight  "  fair  and  sc|uare."  Only 
a  few  months  before,  just  at  the  close  of  the  school- 
year,  when  the  twenty-seven  were  still  the  Second  Latin, 
there  had  been  a  laughable  scuffle  between  two  big, 
lanky  lads  in  the  senior  class.  Full  ten  minutes  had 
they  clinched,  wrestled,  slapped,  and  sparred  in  the 
vestibule,  many  of  the  Second  Latin  looking — and  egg- 
ing— on  and  indulging  in  satirical  comment,  until  Beach 
swooped  upon  the  surging  crowd  and  ordered  DeForest 
and  Dominick,  the  principals,  to  their  benches.  The 
classes  recited  together  then  in  Latin  Prosody,  a  Second 
Latin  boy  many  a  time  "  taking  a  fall"  out  of  the  First 
and  getting  the  head  of  the  combined  array.  There 
was  no  love  lost  between  the  two.  Pop  was  unques- 
tionably partial  to  the  juniors,  and  had  frequent  occa- 
sion to  torment  the  seniors  with  satire  over  the  fact  that 
the  youngsters  knew  better  Latin,  if  not  more,  than  did 
the  other  class.  He  hstened  to  Beach's  report  of  the 
affair  with  frowning  brows,  until  it  transpired  that  full 
ten  minutes  were  consumed  before  the  combatants  were 
separated.  Then  his  broad  features  expanded  in  a 
smile  of  amusement.  "  What !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
studied  the  crestfallen  faces  of  the  culprits.  "  Ten  min- 
utes' battling  and  not  a  scratch  to  show  for  it !     Scan- 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  115 

dalous  !     Et  time  pugnabant  pugnis Hold!     Young 

gentlemen,  there's  a  capital  start  on  a  fine,  sonorous 
line,  dactylic  hexameter.  Half-holiday  to  the  class  that 
first  completes  it !  Half-holiday  except  to  those  wielders 
of  the  wind-stuffed  cestus.  Set  your  wits  to  work — and 
your  pencils."  With  that  he  seated  himself  in  his  chair 
of  state,  his  fine  cambric  handkerchief  came  forth  to 
mop  his  glowing  face,  and,  still  chuckling  with  sup- 
pressed merriment,  the  massive  rector  looked  down 
along  the  crowded  ranks  of  his  boys,  forty-five  in  all, 
and  then  he  wiped  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles  and  laid 
them  on  his  desk,  and  then  little  Beekman  darted  up  to 
his  side,  a  scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and  gave  it  hope- 
fully to  the  magnate  in  the  chair.  The  Doctor  glanced 
over  it,  shook  his  head,  and  frowned.  "  No,  no,"  said 
he.  ''  What  we  want  is  sound  and  sense  combined. 
You've  only  got  the  sound,  like  the  blows  of  our  gladia- 
tors. There's  nothing  behind  them.  The  words  mean 
nothing.     Mark  the  rhythm  and  majesty  of  mine.     Et 

tunc — pugna — bant  pug All  spondaic.     And  then 

— they   were — fighting — with   fists Come,    come, 

gentlemen,  that  line  needs  appropriate  close.  Ha !  the 
versatile  Second  Latin  again  tenders  a  contribution !" 
and  the  big  Doctor  took  the  next  youngster's  slate, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  read,  a  beaming  light  shot 
into  his  eyes ;  then  the  eyes  closed,  the  massive  head 
fell  back,  the  capacious  waistcoat  began  to  heave  and 
shake  from  internal  convulsion,  and  the  whole  array  of 


116  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

boys  looked  up  expectant.  For  a  full  minute  Pop  lay 
back  in  his  big  chair  in  solitary  enjoyment  of  his  fun, 
and  at  last,  bubbling  over  with  merriment,  he  straight- 
ened up  and  began,  "  Listen,  young  gentlemen  of  the 
First  Latin,  to  the  satire  of  the  Second,  Triumph,  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Second,  in  the  victory  of  your  laureate. 

''  Et  tunc  pugnabant  pugnis  sine  sanguine  nasi.' 

"  And  then  they  were  fighting  with  fists  (full  ten  min- 
utes understood)  and  not  a  drop  of  blood  was  drawn  from 
the  nose.  Poetic  Kcense  set  at  naught !  Stern  facts  re- 
lated !  Half-holiday  to  the  Second  Latin  !  Take  your 
books  and  go  rejoicing !  Gentlemen  of  the  vanquished 
First,  remain  where  you  are." 

That  episode  widened  the  breach  between  the  classes 
and  strengthened  the  conviction  that  Pop  was  "  down 
on"  bloodless  encounters.  Pop  was  thorough,  argued 
the  boys.  He  wanted  no  quarrelling,  but  if  quarrels 
came,  they  were  soonest  ended  when  fought  to  a  finish 
on  the  spot. 

And  so  despite  the  frown  on  Halsey's  dark  face  most 
of  the  First  Latin  hoped  that  when  the  Doctor  came 
he  would  look  with  leniency  on  the  misconduct  of  the 
belligerents.  Hoover,  defrauded  of  his  smoke,  pleaded 
for  permission  to  go  to  Duncan's  to  get  his  fine  silk 
handkerchief,  which  he  claimed  to  have  dropped  during 
their  brief  ten  minutes  of  recess.  This  Avas  killing  two 
birds  with  one  stone.     He  needed  his  cigarette,  and  he 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  Hy 

hoped  to  create  the  impression  that  he  was  not  among 
the  crowd  at  the  stable.  There  had  been  a  solemn 
conference  between  the  Doctor  and  Hoover  senior,  and 
solemn  warning  to  the  young  man  on  part  of  both,  and 
Hoover  junior  felt  that  he  could  risk  nothing  with  the 
rector  in  his  present  frame  of  mind.  The  head-master, 
with  doubtful  glance  in  his  eyes,  said  go,  and  not  three 
minutes  later  wished  he  hadn't.  There  was  a  sound 
of  angry  altercation  below-stairs.  John's  whining  voice 
was  uplifted  in  protestation.  At  any  other  time  the 
class  would  have  had  fun  out  of  it,  but  the  class  was  in 
no  mood  for  frolic  now. 

"  Stop  that  noise  and  come  up  here  at  once  !"  ordered 
the  master  from  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  sullen  and 
swollen-faced,  the  janitor  came. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  sir,"  he  began  at  once.  "  I  ain't 
going  to  be  cursed  for  obeying  orders  by  any  such  sneak 
as  that." 

And  when  Halsey  could  check  the  angry  torrent  of 
his  words,  it  transpired  that  Hoover  had  taken  occasion, 
with  much  blasphemy  and  bad  language,  to  abuse  him  for 
having  told  about  the  fight.  Hoover  came  in  ten  min- 
utes later,  glancing  shiftingly  around.  "  Say,  did  that 
cur  tell  on  me  ?"  he  whispered  to  Turner,  as  he  sidled 
into  his  seat,  and  Turner  turned  his  back  and  bade  him 
go  to  Halifax,  but  Briggs  nodded  yes.  It  is  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  nobody  good.  The  Doctor  came  with  gloom 
in  his  eye  and  thunder  on  his  tongue.     Things  had  been 


118  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

going  amiss.  Not  another  word  had  been  heard  of  Snipe. 
A  favorite  pupil  had  disappeared  because  of  troubles 
brought  to  light  at  school,  and  the  Doctor  felt  that  his 
system,  his  methods,  his  discipline  and  supervision  were 
all  being  challenged  and  dissected  by  his  rivals  and  op- 
ponents, and,  like  every  successful  man,  he  was  the  tar- 
get for  the  shafts  of  all  the  envious.  A  high  authority 
at  faculty  meeting  that  day  had  demanded  news  of  the 
missing  boy  and  particulars  as  to  the  causes  of  his 
going,  had  intimated  that  such  things  ought  not  to  be 
in  a  well-regulated  school,  and  the  rector  came  down 
ruffled  and  wrathful.  The  first  thing  to  attract  his 
eyes  was  the  sight  of  Shorty  sitting  ruefully  on  the 
"mourners'  bench,"  as  the  boys  called  the  settee  at 
the  foot  of  the  class.  Hoover,  Turner,  and  Briggs 
were  the  other  occupants. 

"  Hiyee  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  halted  at  the  doorway. 
"  The  lad  of  the  long  tongue  has  let  it  run  away  with  him 
again,  I  suppose  !     What's  he  been  saying,  Mr.  Halsey  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  said  Halsey,  briefly.    "  Fighting  again." 

"  What !  And  after  my  prohibition  !  Here,  you,  sir !" 
he  exclaimed,  with  indignation  in  his  tone.  "  Take  your 
books  and  pack  yourself  out  of  school,  at  once !" 

Slowly  Shorty  found  his  legs  and,  uttering  no  word, 
went  drearily  to  the  bookcase,  obeying  the  pointing, 
menacing  cane  in  the  rector's  hand,  and  trembling  and 
with  heavily  beating  heart  began  to  gather  and  strap  his 
few  possessions.     For  a  moment  there  was  dead  silence. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  HQ 

Pop  still  standing  at  the  doorway,  glaring  at  the  culprit, 
perhaps  wishing  the  boy  would  speak.  But  Shorty's 
spirits  were  crushed  by  the  sorrows  of  the  past  ten  days, 
and  he  didn't  much  care  what  happened.  It  was  Ber- 
tram who  broke  the  silence. 

"May  I  say  a  word,  sir?"  he  asked,  as  he  rose  re- 
spectfully. 

"Not  unless  you  wish  to  quit  the  school  the  same 
way,  sir.  Young  people  will  speak  when  spoken  to  and 
not  before.  Come,  you,  sir,"  he  continued,  turning 
again  on  Shorty,  "  I  am  waiting  for  you  to  go." 

"  So'm  I,  sir,"  said  the  youngster,  desperately,  "  but 
I  can't — till  you  get  out  of  the  way." 

For  an  instant  the  silence  was  intense.  The  Doctor 
stared,  then  dropped  his  threatening  cane,  closed  his 
eyes  and  began  to  shake.  In  another  instant  the  room 
rang  with  a  shout  of  laughter,  even  the  saturnine  feat- 
ures of  Halsey  relaxing  in  a  grin. 

"Who's  the  other  belligerent,  Mr.  Halsey?"  asked 
Pop,  as  soon  as  he  could  regain  severity  of  mien.  "  The 
illustrious  Turner,  I  apprehend.  What  did  you  wish  to 
say,  Bertram  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir,  in  view  of  the  penalty,"  was  the  prompt 
answer. 

"  It  wasn't  his  fault,  I  suppose  you  wish  to  imply," 
said  the  Doctor.  "  Go  back  to  the  bench,  sir,"  was  his 
stern  order  to  Shorty.  "  Remain  after  school,  both  of 
you,  until  I  investigate  this  and  send  you  home  with  a 


120  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

letter  apiece.  Any  other  enormities  to  report,  Mr. 
Halsey?" 

"  Yes,  sir, — Hoover.  The  janitor  says  that  he  cursed 
and  abused  him  at  recess  for  obeying  your  orders." 

The  Doctor's  face  had  mellowed  a  moment  before ; 
now  it  hardened.  He  stood  with  his  cane  tucked  under 
his  arm,  his  top-hat  in  one  hand,  the  polishing  handker- 
chief in  the  other,  flicking  away  the  dust  and  smoothing 
the  glossy  crown.  Foul  language  on  part  of  boy  or  man 
was  something  he  abhorred,  and  Hoover  had  been  re- 
ported more  than  once.  For  John,  the  janitor,  the 
Doctor  had  but  faint  regard.  He  was  a  blundering 
booby,  said  he.  But  that  in  no  wise  relieved  Hoover. 
Watching  his  angering  face,  the  silent  boys  could  almost 
foretell  the  words  they  saw  framing  on  his  compressed 
lips.  "  Out  of  my  school,  sir,"  were  beyond  doubt  the 
first  he  would  have  spoken,  but  there  sat  two  other  cul- 
prits who  deserved  the  temporary  expulsion  that  was  at 
the  time  his  favorite  method  of  punishment.  If  Hoover 
went,  they  too  must  go,  or  Hoover  senior  would  hear 
and  ask  the  reason,  and  the  Doctor  hated  to  be  cross- 
questioned  about  his  school.  His  methods  were  his 
own ;  one  might  almost  say  the  boys  were  too. 

"Using  blasphemous  and  profane  language  again!" 
he  finally  began,  as  he  stood  and  glared  at  the  scowling 
pupil.  "  Gentlemen  never  abuse  a  servant  for  obeying 
orders.  Gentlemen  avoid  the  use  of  profanity.  We 
must  have  a  new  name, — a  more  descriptive  title  for  our 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  121 

monstrum  horrendum^  our  roaring  Polyphemus.  What 
say  you,  Bertram,  Imperator?  What  say  you,  Joy? 
Come,  wake  your  nimble  wits,  young  gentlemen.  The 
astute  head  of  the  class  is  silent,  the  second  is  dumb, 
the  third  sits  mute,"  and  now  the  great  but  shapely 
white  hand,  with  its  taper  index,  points  to  one  after  an- 
other, "  the  fourth,  the  fifth,  the  sixth.  What  ?  Have 
we  no  wits  left  to-day  ?  You,  Beekman ;  you,  Satter- 
lee ;  the  iconoclastic  Bagshot,  the  epicurean  Doremus" 
(a  titter  now,  for  Doremus's  taste  for  cream-puffs  is  pro- 
verbial). Speak  up.  Van  Sandtvoordt.  Gihon,  Post, 
Dix,  Bliss,  Seymour,  Grayson,  next,  next,  next ;  the 
late  belligerent  Mr.  Turner,  the  benignant  Briggs, 
Hoover  we'll  skip,  and  now  the  other  gladiator,  Lo- 
quax.     Whatf 

"  Poly-blasphemous !"  says  Shorty,  with  twitching 
lips,  the  Irish  in  him  coming  to  the  top  despite  his  weight 
of  woe. 

An  instant  of  silence,  then,  shaking  from  head  to  foot, 
the  tears  fairly  starting  from  his  eyes,  unable  for  the 
moment  to  speak  at  all,  laughing  himself  to  the  verge 
of  apoplexy,  the  Doctor  motions  the  youngster  from  the 
foot  to  the  head  of  the  class,  and  it  is  a  full  minute  be- 
fore order  is  restored  and  the  laughter  of  the  First  Latin 
subsides.  Even  then,  every  little  while  some  boy  bursts 
out  into  a  chuckle  of  merriment,  and  Hoover  glares  at 
him  with  new  malevolence.  Every  little  while  the  Doc- 
tor settles  back  in  his  chair  and  shakes  anew.     That  jew 


122 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


d'esprit  saves  three  culprits  from  deserved  suspension 
and  brings  sunshine  through  the  storm-clouds  for  the 
day  at  least.     But  it  thickens  the  hide  of  Hoover's  hate. 

"  You  think  you  were  smart  this  afternoon"  (with  an 
adjective  to  the  smart),  sneers  Hoover  to  the  youngster 
after  school.  "  You'll  fmd  out  where  the  smart  comes 
in  before  you're  a  month  older,  young  feller." 

And  Hoover  means  it. 


1   'V 


">:;f^^ 


■^>..=:-^*-"r^^>I 


CHAPTER    X. 

Another  month  had  come  and  not  another  word  from 
Snipe.  All  the  Doctor's  explorations  were  in  vain. 
There  was  grief  at  the  Lawrences',  for  the  poor  mother 
had  been  visiting  her  sister,  imploring  full  particulars  in 
one  minute  and  denouncing  her  informants  in  the  next. 
The  most  yielding  and  self-forgetful  of  women  ordinarily, 
she  had  risen  in  rebellion  against  those  whom  she  be- 
lieved had  wronged  her  boy.  There  was  a  rupture  at 
Rhinebeck,  where  George  Lawton's  step-father  was  given 
to  understand  by  George  Lawton's  mother  that  she 
would  never  believe  that  her  boy  had  stolen.  That  he 
had  sold  the  books  and  the  gun  and  might  have  sold  the 
watch  was  probably  true.  He  had  to  do  it  to  buy  even 
the  coarsest  clothes  to  hide  his  nakedness.  She  had 
come  to  Shorty's  home,  and,  with  that  sad-hearted 
youngster  as  her  guide,  had  been  conducted  to  the  Doc- 
tor's study,  and  there  she  was  permitted  to  read  and  to 
weep  over  Snipe's  pathetic  letter.    She  drew  from  Shorty 

123 


124  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

all  the  details  of  the  boy's  effort  to  get  along  on  his 
scanty  allowance,  to  spare  her,  and  to  make  his  worn 
shoes  and  shabby,  outgrown  garments  answer  for  an- 
other year.  The  interview  between  the  now  roused  and 
indignant  woman  and  her  husband  on  her  return  to 
Rhinebeck  must  have  been  a  source  of  amaze  to  him  as 
well  as  discomfiture.  In  forty-eight  hours  she  was  back 
at  Mrs.  Lawrence's.  "  Do  not  put  yourself  out  for  me 
any  more  than  you  did  for  George,"  she  said  to  her  sis- 
ter, with  a  tinge  of  irrepressible  bitterness.  "  I  will 
sleep  in  his  little  hall  bedroom  and  sit  at  his  corner  of 
your  table — when  you  are  not  entertaining."  And  Mrs. 
Lawrence  made  no  reply.  She  knew  well  there  had 
been  much  to  warrant  the  mother's  accusation.  George 
might  indeed  be  the  culprit  her  husband,  her  brother- 
in-law,  and  her  butler  asserted,  but  he  might  not,  prob- 
ably would  not,  have  been  but  for  the  indifference  or 
neglect  which  had  been  his  portion.  Down  at  the  bot- 
tom of  her  heart  Aunt  Lawrence  was  a  sympathetic 
woman,  and  not  entirely  unjust,  for  after  the  first  few 
days  of  excitement,  at  which  times  those  at  fault  are 
sure  to  strive  to  fix  the  blame  on  others,  she  realized 
that  what  she  had  said  of  George's  playmate  and  his 
people,  even  of  George's  misguided  methods  of  spending 
his  recreation  hours,  was  something  she  would  gladly 
recall. 

But  all  this  time  the  search  for  the  absent  boy  had 
gone  on  unremittingly.     Shorty  had  promised  faithfully 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  125 

that  if  another  letter  came  from  Snipe  he  would  bring  it 
to  the  mother  at  once,  and  Pop  had  given  his  sanction. 
He  refused  to  promise  to  come  every  day  to  see  her,  as 
she  had  at  first  almost  demanded.     He  told  her  frankly 
that  after  what  Mrs.  Lawrence  had  said  of  him  and  his 
leading  George  astray,  he  couldn't  come.     The  Doctor 
had  certain  theories  about  the  missing  jewelry,  and  had, 
on  his  own  account,  employed  detective  aid,  and  aban- 
doned his  theory  more  perplexed  than  ever.     Privately 
he  let  it  be  known  to  the  police  that  he  would  pay  a 
handsome  reward  for  the  recovery  of  Joy's  watch  and 
information  that  would  lead  to  the  apprehension  of  the 
thief,  but  not  a  trace  of  it  had  been  found.     School  work 
had  to  be  kept  up,  but  Shorty's  standing  suffered.     The 
weekly  reports  that  so  often  bore  in  Pop's  remarkable 
chirography  the  word  ''Imperator,''  in  Halsey's  big,  round 
hand  the  inscription  ''Nulli  Secundus,''  and  over  the  sign 
manuals  of  the  other  teachers  some  tribute  to  his  schol- 
arship and  industry,  now  spoke  of  him  as  "  falling  off," 
"  losing  ground,"  etc.,  and  a  gentle  hand  was  laid  on  his 
troubled  head  at  home  ere  it  signed  the  receipt,  and 
kind  and  sympathetic  words  would  send  him  hurrying 
away  to  his  own  little  den,  there  to  give  way  to  a  passion 
of  tears.     It  was  bad  enough  to  lose  Snipe.     It  was 
cruel  to  think  of  the  boy's  loneliness  and  suffering,  but 
it  was  getting  to  be  worst  of  all  at  school,  where,  true 
to   the   old,    old   saying,   the   absent   was    sure   to   be 
wrong.     Little  by  little  sneer,  rumor,  and  insinuation 


126  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

had  done  their  work,  and,  with  no  one  to  defend  but 
Shorty,  Snipe's  name  had  become  clouded  with  sus- 
picion that  was  verging  into  certainty.  If  innocent  of 
all  the  misdeeds  laid  at  his  door,  why  had  he  run  away  ? 
Why  did  he  not  come  home  to  face  his  accusers? 

And  so  it  happened  that  Shorty  saw  less  of  his  school- 
mates and  more  of  his  and  Snipe's  old  friends,  the  fire- 
men, than  ever  before.  At  home  this  was  looked  upon 
as  decidedly  unfortunate,  but  the  lad  was  so  unhappy 
and  restless  that  no  active  opposition  was  made.  "  No 
good  can  ever  come  from  such  association,"  said  the  one 
oracular  and  dogmatic  member  of  the  household.  But 
that  prophecy  was  destined  to  be  put  to  the  blush. 

Quarter  day  had  come  at  Pop's, — a  day  marked  in 
the  annals  of  the  school  and  celebrated  in  its  traditions. 
More  stories  centred  on  that  momentous  date  than  on 
all  the  other  school- days  combined.  On  the  Friday  of 
the  last  week  of  the  expiring  quarter  each  of  the  Doctor's 
pupils  would  be  handed  an  envelope  addressed  to  his 
responsible  parent  or  guardian,  and  each  envelope  so 
addressed  contained  the  school  bill  for  the  ensuing 
quarter,  filled  out  in  the  Doctor's  unique  and  dainty 
hand.  No  writing  was  ever  like  it.  Pop  had  a  system 
of  penmanship,  as  he  had  of  punishment,  of  instruction, 
and  school  discipline,  peculiarly  his  own.  His  capital 
letters  were  always  large,  clear,  and  well  formed.  His 
small  letters,  except  those  extending  above  and  below 
the  line,  were  indicated  by  tiny,  back-handed  dashes 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  ^27 

that  individually  conveyed  no  idea  and  collectively  were 
unmistakable.  Not  a  word  of  instruction  accompanied 
the  presentation  of  the  missive,  but  every  boy  knew  in- 
fallibly what  to  expect.  From  time  immemorial  in  the 
history  of  the  school  the  unwritten  law  had  been  that 
every  boy  appearing  with  the  cash  or  check  in  payment 
of  the  bill  early  on  the  following  Monday  morning  might 
go  his  way  on  whole  holiday.  If  the  money  came  on 
Tuesday  the  bearer  was  released  at  twelve  o'clock ;  but 
if  it  failed  to  come  on  Wednesday  the  pupil  found  him- 
self drifting  from  one  scrape  into  another  until  it  did 
come,  and  old  boys  used  to  declare  that  pretexts  were 
never  lacking,  when  they  were  of  the  school,  to  warrant 
the  Doctor  in  flogging,  every  day  until  the  money  came, 
the  hapless  lad  whose  parents  failed  to  meet  the  demand 
on  time.  Small  wonder  that  Pop's  boys  developed  phe- 
nomenal powers  as  bill  collectors  and  that  Pop  himself 
had  no  dunning  letters  to  write. 

The  late  autumn  had  given  way  to  early  winter,  sharp 
and  frosty.  A  great  presidential  election  had  been  held 
some  weeks  before.  The  East  was  excited  and  the 
South  enraged  over  the  victory  of  a  far  Western  candi- 
date, almost  unknown  to  Gotham.  Rumors  more  and 
more  alarming  of  Southern  force  and  fury  flew  from  lip 
to  lip  as  November  drew  to  its  close,  and  December, 
frosty  but  kindly,  was  ushered  in.  The  boys  had  sep- 
arated Friday  afternoon,  taking  the  bills  with  them,  and 
early  Monday  morning  Othello  sat  "  for  such  occasions 


128  l^ROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

only"  at  the  Doctor's  desk,  in  readiness  to  receipt  for 
checks  or  cash  before  the  opening  hours  of  school.  A 
dozen  at  least  of  the  First  Latin  had  gleefully  gone  their 
way.  Another  dozen,  less  fortunate,  lolled  dejectedly 
on  the  benches,  devoutly  wishing  their  paters  were  as 
well  to  do  as  those  of  the  holiday-makers  (which  many 
were,  but  held  to  a  theory  that  Pop  found  too  many  ex- 
cuses for  holidays).  Shorty  was  neither  with  one  nor 
the  other.  Nine  o'clock  came  and  two  of  the  First 
Latin  had  not  reported ;  Hoover  was  the  other.  The 
bell  rang.  Beach  was  told  off  to  put  the  supposedly 
derehct  through  their  paces  in  Sallust,  while  Halsey 
went  on  signing  receipts,  shoving  money  into  the  drawer, 
and  saying,  "  You  may  go,"  briefly  as  possible,  to  the 
boys  who  came  provided.  The  rule  held  good  for  the 
entire  school,  and  by  quarter-past  nine  the  rector's 
drawer  was  stored  with  something  over  a  thousand  dol- 
lars in  checks,  bank-notes,  and' coin.  It  was  fully  half- 
past  nine  when  Hoover  came  slowly  and  sullenly  up 
the  stairs  and  entered  the  room.  Briggs,  sitting  at  the 
foot  of  the  incarcerated  dozen,  jocularly  hailed  him 
with,  "  Hullo  !  for  once  in  his  life  Hoover  won't  have  to 
sit  on  the  mourners'  bench," 

"  Go  there  yourself,  sir !"  said  Beach,  sternly,  bringing 
Briggs  instantly  to  his  feet  with  whining  expostulation. 
"Why,  what  did  I  say,  sir?"  And  it  takes  more  fines 
and  much  frowning  to  settle  him,  Othello  never  inter- 
posing, for  this  money  taking  and  changing  is  his  bane. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  129 

He  has  to  do  it  in  the  Doctor's  absence,  but  he  hates  it. 
He  counts  over  every  penny  slowly  and  carefully,  for 
the  rector  requires  account  to  the  uttermost  farthing, 
and  small  boys  waiting  for  their  receipt  fidget  impa- 
tiently. 

Hoover,  mean  time,  is  removing  coat,  gloves,  and 
muffler  with  exaggerated  deliberation,  and  seizes  the  op- 
portunity when  Beach  turns  to  the  head  with  a  question, 
and  while  the  stove-pipe  hides  Othello's  eyes,  to  admin- 
ister a  fervent  kick  to  Briggs  and  send  that  sandy-haired 
young  fellow's  Sallust  flying  to  mid-floor,  Briggs,  of 
course,  lending  unnecessary  and  additional  centrifugal 
impetus  to  his  belongings,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  acri- 
monious debate  that  follows  a  bounding  step  is  heard 
on  the  stair  and  in  comes  Shorty,  flushed,  panting  a  bit, 
and  filled  with  suppressed  excitement  and  evident  im- 
portance. He  squeezes  in  between  Hoover  and  the 
rack  to  hang  up  his  top-coat.  Hoover  swaying  back- 
ward, of  course,  to  make  it  as  difficult  and  disagreeable 
a  process  as  possible. 

"  Come  out  of  that.  Hoover,  and  take  your  seat," 
orders  Beach,  sternly.  But  "  Polyblasphemous"  is  ugly 
and  rebellious.  Not  until  Shorty  has  a  second  time 
squeezed  by  is  Hoover  made  to  obey.  Even  then 
he  turns  back  and  rummages  among  the  coat  pockets, 
claiming  that  he  has  left  his  handkerchief  therein. 
Hoover's  handkerchief,  like  charity,  is  made  to  cover 
a  multitude  of  sins.     He  feels  in  a  dozen  pockets,  ap- 

9 


130  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

parently,  before  he  finds  it.  So  engrossed  is  the  class, 
or  what  is  left  of  it,  in  the  effort  to  bring  order  out  of 
chaos  at  the  foot  of  the  room— and  Hoover  from  among 
the  overcoats — that  few  see  that  Shorty  has  handed 
Othello  a  note  before  silently  taking  his  seat.  Hoover 
is  presently  settled  below  Briggs,  fined  five  marks  for 
being  late  and  another  five  for  trifling,  and  the  recitation 
goes  on.  Beach  evidently  ruffled.  Then  Othello  looks 
up  and  beckons  to  Shorty,  who  silently  goes  to  his 
side. 

"  When  did  the  Doctor  give  you  this?''  he  asks,  in  low 
tone ;  but  now  the  boys  are  still  as  mice  and  listening 
intently. 

''Just  at  nine,  sir,  up  at  his  house.  I  caught  him 
going  up  to  college  and  gave  him  the  letter,  and  he 
turned  back  and  wrote  that."  Shorty  never  could  ex- 
plain a  thing  in  few  words. 

There  is  a  sound  as  of  shouting  and  excitement  on 
the  avenue  above  the  school  and  of  swift- running  feet, 
but  at  the  moment  no  attention  is  paid.  "  The  Doctor 
says  you  are  to  have  whole  hohday,"  continues  Halsey, 
in  his  monotonous  tones.  The  noise  without  is  in- 
creasing. 

"  I — don't  care  to  go,  sir,"  says  Shorty,  hesitating, 
and  the  class  looks  up  in  astonishment.  The  noise  has 
spread  to  the  rooms  to  the  east, — the  nursery, — where 
the  small  boys  are  ;  a  banging  of  windows  and  shades, 
a  rush  of  many  feet,  and  all  of  a  sudden  the  leaden- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  131 

colored  door  flies  open  and  Meeker  appears,  pale  and 
excited. 

"  Mr.  Halsey !"  he  cries,  "  a  house  right  back  of  us  is 
all  in  a  blaze.     Shall  I  dismiss  my  class  ?" 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  answers  the  head-master,  ever 
deliberate,  and  away  he  goes,  long  striding,  the  First 
Latin,  despite  Beach's  effort,  tearing  after  him.  Then 
Beach  follows  the  tide.  The  house  in  flames  is  not  just 
back  of  them,  but  near  enough  to  prove  a  source  of  tre- 
mendous interest  and  excitement,  if  not  of  danger.  It 
faces  on  Twenty-fifth  Street,  just  beyond  the  stable,  and 
backs  up  into  the  grape- vined,  fence-crossed  rectangle  at 
the  back.  Smoke  in  thick  volumes  is  pouring  out  of  the 
back  windows.  A  tongue  of  flame  licks  out  under  the 
narrow  gallery  at  the  rear  of  the  main  floor  as  Halsey 
forces  his  way  through  a  mob  of  shouting  small  boys  to 
the  open  window.  The  First  Latin  comes  tumbling 
after  him,  shoving  Meeker  aside.  Borne  on  the  breath 
of  the  rising  east  wind,  a  single,  solemn  "  bong"  of  the 
Twenty-third  Street  tower  tells  that  the  watcher  has 
quickly  descried  the  unusual  smoke-cloud  billowing  up 
from  the  doomed  dwelling.  People  in  adjoining  houses 
are  throwing  open  blinds  and  shouting  unintelligible 
things.  Boys  and  men  come  clambering  over  fences 
from  adjoining  yards.  Cooks  and  housemaids  gather 
on  back  galleries,  huddling  together  with  shawls  over 
their  heads  and  red  arms  wrapped  in  flimsy  aprons.  A 
pile  of  bedding  comes  hurtling  down  through  the  smoke 


132  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

from  a  third-story  window,  followed  by  a  lot  of  books. 
Somebody  has  fetched  a  ladder,  and  a  dozen  boys  and 
men  have  scrambled  to  the  tar  and  pebble  roof  of  the 
stable,  and  there  they  dance  and  shout  and  run  hither 
and  yon,  but  still  no  firemen  appear.  The  nearest  hook 
and  ladder  company  "  lies"  seven  blocks  away.  The 
school  is  down  at  the  foot  of  the  First  (fire)  District.  The 
jangling  bells  of  61  Hose  can  be  heard  coming  on  the 
jump  down  the  avenue,  and  every  boy  knows  Pacific 
Engine  can't  be  a  block  behind.  But  now  the  "  hot 
black  breath"  rushing  from  the  basement  and  first-floor 
windows  bursts  all  at  once  into  furious  red  flames,  and 
Halsey  says  resignedly,  "  School's  dismissed  till  the  fire's 
out."  The  boys  go  tumbling  over  each  other's  heels  in 
mad  dash  for  the  door,  and  the  thunder  of  feet,  as  they 
go  leaping  down  the  narrow  stairway,  shakes  and  scan- 
dalizes the  watchmakers  in  the  little  shop  below,  and 
Mr.  Foley,  rushing  out  at  the  first  boy  he  can  lay  hands 
on,  shakes  him  in  turn  until,  amazed  and  wrathful,  the 
young  fellow  breaks  loose,  whirls  about,  and  lands  a 
stunning  left-and-right  full  in  Foley's  angry  face,  and 
turns  it  even  redder,  while  every  other  big  boy  springs 
to  the  aid  of  "  28,"  just  lowering  her  long  side  levers 
and  "  taking  the  butt"  from  "  61,"  while  two  or  three 
stalwart,  black-helmeted  fellows  dart  up  the  brownstone 
steps  and  into  the  smoke-vomiting  doorway,  glistening 
pipe  in  hand,  the  copper-riveted,  black  leather  hose 
trailing  behind  them.     Before  the  water  gushes   from 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  133 

the  corner  hydrant  and  swells  the  snake-like  coils  that 
connect  with  the  engine,  the  pipemen  come  reeling  out 
before  the  jetting  flames,  and  everybody  knows  that 
that  fire  will  burn  itself  out  and  not  succumb  to  water. 
In  their  haste,  many  lads  have  left  their  overcoats  on 
the  rack,  and  from  the  midst  of  these  emerges  Hoover, 
twisting  the  silken  muffler  about  his  throat,  the  only 
pupil  left  in  the  main  school  room,  as  Halsey  suddenly 
recollects  himself— and  the  cash  in  the  Doctor's  drawer 
— and  comes  hurrying  back  to  that  abandoned  desk. 
The  drawer  is  half-way  open,  the  checks  and  bank-notes 
seem  undisturbed,  but  Halsey  knows  there  were  a  num- 
ber of  ten-dollar  gold  pieces  in  the  lot,  and  now  there 
isn't  one.  Long  before  that  lively  blaze  is  out  and  only 
bare  burned  walls  are  left  standing,  the  Doctor  himself 
arrives  upon  the  scene,  and  the  head-master,  with  rueful 
face,  reports  himself  about  one  hundred  dollars  short. 


V..^- 


^^A4i','  jl, 


'-^ 


CHAPTER    XI. 


When  the  order  "  Take  up"  was  finally  given  that 
afternoon  to  the  array  of  fire  companies  that  covered 
the  first  and  second  fire  districts,  most  of  Pop's  boys 
were  still  among  the  swarm  of  spectators.  The  fire  had 
broken  out  soon  after  nine  o'clock,  and  not  until  one 
were  some  of  the  companies  sent  home.  Under  the 
system  existing  in  those  days  every  engine,  hose,  and 
hook  and  ladder  company  whose  station  was  north  of 
Twenty-second  or  south  of  Sixtieth  Street  had  had  to 
answer  that  alarm, — old  "  Black  Joke,"  Engine  Company 
33,  having  to  drag  their  heavy  "  Carson"  machine  all  the 
way  from  the  neighborhood  of  Fifty-ninth  Street  and 
Broadway.  There  was  nothing  left  of  the  house  in 
which  the  fire  started,  and  neighboring  buildings  were 
badly  scorched  in  places  and  more  or  less  damaged  by 
water.  There  were  no  "  chemicals"  then.  The  stable 
had  been  in  danger  several  times,  and  Pop's  boys  had 
performed  prodigies  of  valor  early  in  the  affair,  leading 

134 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  I35 

out  the  affrighted  horses  and  wheehng  buggies  and 
wagons  into  the  street.  The  ears  on  Fourth  Avenue 
had  to  stop  for  over  an  hour,  so  numerous  were  the 
lines  of  hose,  and  both  that  avenue  and  Twenty-fifth 
Street  and  the  roofs  and  windows  of  adjoining  buildings 
were  thronged  with  lookers-on.  The  Doctor  was  much 
displeased  on  his  arrival  to  find  his  back  windows  occu- 
pied on  both  floors  by  total  strangers,  who  made  them- 
selves perfectly  at  home  and  couldn't  be  induced  to 
leave  by  any  intimation  of  the  janitor  that  the  principal 
would  like  to  close  up.  The  Doctor  was  more  than 
displeased  when  he  heard  from  Halsey  of  the  filching 
of  the  gold.  No  pupil  saw  that  interview.  A  few  of  the 
smaller  boys  were  at  the  back  widows,  but  only  John 
noted  the  two  in  their  grave  consultation,  and  he  was 
promptly  ordered  to  leave  the  room,  and  could  only 
guess  what  was  going  on  until  the  following  day.  As 
the  firemen  stretched  their  drag-ropes  and  started  for 
home  Halsey  suggested  summoning  the  boys  back  to 
their  seats  and  studies,  but  Pop  said  no, — it  was  too  late 
in  the  day.  He  wished  to  think,  and,  tucking  the  cash 
and  checks  in  an  inside  pocket  and  his  cane  under  his 
arm,  leaving  Halsey  to  see  to  the  closing  up  of  the  rooms, 
the  Doctor  went  slowly  down-stairs  and  out  upon  the 
crowded  street.  He  had  had  to  thread  his  way  through 
the  jam  at  Twenty-fifth  Street,  and  wanted  no  more  of 
that.  A  line  of  hose  stretched  along  the  sidewalk  from 
the  hydrant  at  the  corner  below,  and  he  looked  upon  it 


136  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

with  stern  and  scholastic  disapproval,  but  followed  its 
lead  and  came  upon  a  familiar  face.  It  being  a  "  neigh- 
borhood" fire,  the  Metamora  Hose  had  run  over  from 
Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty-first  Street,  being  almost  as 
soon  upon  the  scene  as  61.  Taking  the  hydrant  at 
Twenty-fourth  Street,  her  men  had  unreeled  up  the 
avenue  and  around  the  stable,  giving  their  "butt"  to 
Lexington  7,  who,  with  their  big  double-decker,  came 
speeding  over  from  Third  Avenue.  And  now  the  pret- 
tily painted  hose  carriage  was  drawn  up  close  to  the 
curb  at  Twenty-fourth  Street,  and  half  a  dozen  young 
fellows  were  lolhng  about  the  wheels  and  tongue, 
smoking  and  talking  loudly,  with  much  exaggerated 
imitation  of  the  Bowery  dialect  of  the  day.  But  the 
slangy,  swaggering  talk  came  to  sudden  stop.  Two 
cigars,  at  least,  were  tossed  or  dropped  into  the  flooded 
gutters,  and  two  or  three  hats  were  lifted  as  Hoover, 
Briggs,  and  a  "  horsey"  young  man,  whose  specialties 
were  cock-fights  and  "  canine  sports,"  suddenly  rec- 
ognized the  Doctor.  With  grave  dignity  Pop  lifted  his 
beaver,  and  his  stern  eyes  gazed  in  disapprobation  upon 
the  party.  He  knew  the  others,  as  he  did  his  own  black 
sheep,  at  a  glance.  There  were  the  Hulkers,  the  flashi- 
est of  New  York  youths,  the  objects  of  his  especial  dis- 
like. He  had  known  their  father,  a  worthy  man  despite 
his  swiftly  acquired  wealth,  and  the  boys,  too,  had  spent 
six  months  within  the  Doctor's  walls  before  the  death 
of  that  lamented  financier.     But  a  doting  mother  had 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  137 

long  since  withdrawn  them  from  the  tyranny  and  op- 
pression to  which  her  beloved  sons  were  there  subjected. 
The  Doctor  had  his  regular  habits  and  his  regular  route. 
No  boy  there  had  ever  known  him  to  turn  southward 
from  his  school  door  before  this  day,  and  his  coming 
suddenly  upon  them  was  a  shock  so  severe  that  it  dashed 
for  the  moment  even  Briggs's  effrontery.  Hoover  turned 
a  sickly  yellow,  and  looked  as  though  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  crawl  under  the  hose  carriage.  Briggs 
"made  a  sneak"  to  get  the  reel  between  him  and 
the  Doctor's  glowering  eyes,  but  Pop  halted  short  and 
stood  with  pointed  cane,  and  Briggs  saw  it  was  useless 
and  crawled  out  again.  "  Smoking !"  said  the  rector, 
comprehending  the  sextette  in  general  condemnation. 
"  Idhng !  Wasting  the  substance  of  honest  men  in  for- 
bidden and  stolen  indulgence.  Here,  you,  sir!"  to 
Briggs,  "get  you  gone  out  of  this.  Go  home  and  study, 
and  if  you  miss  a  line  of  to-morrow's  lessons  I'll  pack 
you  out  of  school."  "  Pack"  as  a  verb  and  "  copious"  as 
an  adjective  were  pets  in  the  rector's  school  vocabulary. 
"  The  same  to  you,  my  horsey  young  friend,  Mr.  Brod- 
rick.  As  for  you,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  Hulkers 
and  their  companion,  who,  with  hands  in  pockets  and 
hats  tipped  back,  were  striving  to  keep  up  appearance 
of  bravado,  "  I  shall  reach  you  through  another  chan- 
nel." Then,  his  manner  suddenly  changing,  he  turned 
on  Hoover,  now  bhnking  and  sidling  away  through  the 
quickly  gathering  knot   of  inquisitive  folk.     "  Hoover, 


138  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

come  with  me,"  he  said,  and  Hoover,  who  looked  as 
though  he  would  give  a  year  of  his  life  to  get  out  of  the 
way,  meekly  slunk  along  at  the  Doctor's  side. 

Majestically  the  rector  strode  across  the  street  and 
went  on  southward,  vouchsafing  no  word  to  the  culprit 
on  his  left.  There  were  still  curious  knots  of  loungers 
along  the  avenue.  One  or  two  companies  were  manning 
the  brakes  in  Twenty-fourth  Street,  the  hose  of  their 
engines  being  carried  through  the  basements  of  the  red 
brick  houses  to  the  rear  of  the  wrecked  premises.  Fur- 
tively Briggs  and  Brodrick  watched  the  pair  until  lost 
to  sight,  all  but  the  Doctor's  hat,  in  the  throngs  along 
the  walk.  Then  an  anxious,  nervous  glance  was  ex- 
changed, and  Brodrick  whispered  to  his  freckle-faced 
schoolmate.  "  What's  he  heard,  d'you  s'pose  ?"  was  his 
query. 

"  We'd  better  look  up  61  and  see  what  the  other  fel- 
lows know,"  said  Briggs,  in  low  tone,  while  the  Hulkers, 
now  that  the  rector  was  well  away,  resumed  their  loud 
laughter.  "  You  go,  Brod  ;  I  can't  show  up  in  that  crowd 
just  now."  The  memory  of  the  assault  on  Snipe  was 
still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  some  of  the  lads.  Very  pos- 
sibly it  was  this  that  held  the  Hulkers  and  their  hench- 
men so  far  away  from  the  fire  itself  and  from  the  spot 
where,  over  a  block  away,  61's  white  hose-reel  and  sil- 
ver lamps  could  be  seen  above  the  crowd.  Even  now 
that  shame  and  suspicion  attached  to  George  Lawton's 
name,  those  fellows,  lately  his  accusers,  if  not  indeed 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  I39 

his  active  assailants,  felt  it  unsafe  to  venture  among  a 
lot  of  the  First  Latin. 

Brodrick  peered  up  the  street  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Not  if  the  court  knows  herself,"  he  said,  with  the 
Bowery  drawl ;  then,  turning  to  Hulker,  "  Sa-ay,  Skinny, 
gimme  'nother  seegar."  But  the  Hulker  apostrophized 
as  "  Skinny"  declined. 

"You've  cleaned  me  out  of  the  last  one.  Go  buy 
some  if  you  want  'em." 

"  1  ain't  got  a  dime.  Hope  to  drop  dead  next  minute 
if  I  have.  Sa-ay,  lend  me  five  dollars  till  Christmas  on 
that  watch-chain  ?"  he  pleaded,  hfting  a  clumsy  produc- 
tion from  a  waistcoat-pocket.  But  the  next  minute  he 
thrust  it  back  in  haste  and  confusion.  Beach,  with  ob- 
serving eye,  came  sweeping  down  upon  them.  "  Mr. 
Halsey  wishes  to  see  you  both  at  once,"  said  he,  with 
scant  ceremony.  "  Lose  no  time,"  and,  though  the 
message  filled  them  both  with  uneasiness,  neither  dare 
disregard  it. 

Halsey  sat  at  the  old  table  as  they  slunk  into  the  school- 
room. Two  or  three  First  Latin  men  and  Second  Latin 
boys  were  grouped  about  him ;  John,  the  janitor,  was 
dodging  about  the  door.  Every  boy  in  the  number  had 
on  his  overcoat,  but  at  least  half  a  dozen  others  had  left 
theirs  hanging  on  the  rack. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  whose  they  are,"  Doremus  was  say- 
ing. "  There's  Beekman's,  and  there's  Bagshot's,  and 
that's  Prime's,  and  those  are  Second  Latin  coats,"  he 


140  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

added,  with  proper  indifference  to  the  infant  garments. 
Halsey  thought  a  moment. 

"  They  must  still  be  somewhere  about,"  he  said,  ten- 
tatively, as  Briggs  and  Brodrick  ranged  up  behind  the 
smaller  lads.  "  Where's  Hoover  ?"  he  questioned.  "  He 
was  with  you  a  moment  ago." 

"  Gone  with  the  Doctor,  sir,"  said  Briggs,  glad  enough 
to  have  no  harder  question  to  answer. 

A  long  hook-and-ladder  truck  that  had  been  standing 
for  some  hours  in  front  of  the  school  was  being  reloaded 
with  its  ladders,  and  its  gong  was  sounding  to  recall 
scattered  members  of  the  company.  Some  small  boys 
had  tiptoed  to  the  window  to  feast  their  eyes  on  the  un- 
accustomed sight.  "  There's  some  of  our  fellows  over 
by  61's  Hose  now,  sir,"  piped  a  junior,  and  John  was 
bidden  to  go  and  again  summon  all  stragglers  into  school. 
Ringing  of  his  bell  had  only  resulted  in  derisive  com- 
ment among  the  firemen.  Some  company  just  starting 
for  home  was  receiving  the  customary  "  hi,  hi"  of  the 
hangers-on  about  the  other  machines,  and  John's  man- 
dates produced  no  immediate  effect.  At  last,  however, 
the  boys  came  straggling  up  in  knots  of  two  or  three, 
and  presently  perhaps  a  dozen  were  added  to  the  group 
about  the  master's  table.  He  was  listening  rather  ab- 
sently to  the  excited  talk.  No  less  than  six  or  eight  of 
the  youngsters  had  personally  rescued  as  many  horses 
apiece,  despite  the  fact  that  there  never  were  more  than 
twenty  of  those  quadrupeds,  all  told,  in  the  adjoining 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  l^l 

stable.  Halsey  made  Briggs  repeat  his  statement  as  to 
Hoover  and  seemed  disappointed.  "  Is  this  all  you  can 
find  ?"  he  finally  said  to  the  janitor,  and  John  declared 
it  was. 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  Prime  was  down  there  some- 
where ?"  asked  Halsey  of  Doremus. 

"  He's  sure  to  be,  sir.     His  coat's  here  yet." 

So  again  the  janitor  w^as  sent  forth,  and  again  came 
back  to  say  he  could  see  nothing  of  the  lad,  and  at  last 
the  master  decided  to  keep  the  others  no  longer.  Bagshot 
took  his  coat  and  left.  There  were  only  two  remaining 
on  the  rack  when  the  usual  hour  for  closing  school  drew 
nigh.  The  occupants  of  the  rear  windows  by  this  time 
had  satisfied  their  curiosity  and  departed,  and  John  had 
been  ordered  to  keep  the  doors  closed  and  to  admit  no 
more.  For  some  reason  Halsey  seemed  to  hang  on  to 
Briggs  to  the  very  last,  and  he  and  Brodrick  were  still 
fretting  about  the  benches,  awaiting  the  master's  per- 
mission to  retire  and  glancing  apprehensively  at  each 
other  from  time  to  time. 

At  last  Halsey  beckoned  them  to  his  side. 

"  Where  were  you  when  the  class  followed  me  into 
the  other  room?"  asked  he  of  Briggs. 

"  With  'em,  sir !"  said  Briggs,  with  eagerness. 
"Wasn't  I,  Brodrick?  We  were  among  the  first  to 
follow." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  asseverated  Brodrick  as  positively.  "  We 
chased  right  in  after  you." 


142  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"How  long  did  you  stay  in  there?"  asked  Halsey. 
"  Tm  told  you  were  among  the  first  to  bolt  down-stairs 
— before  school  was  dismissed." 

"  A  minute  or  two,  anyhow,"  declared  Briggs.  "  I 
thought  school  was  dismissed  or  I  wouldn't  'a'  run." 

"  Did  the  whole  class  follow  ?  Did  any  remain  ?"  he 
asked,  searching  the  anxious  features  before  him.  He 
and  Beach  had  already  talked  this  over  among  them- 
selves. John,  too,  had  been  examined,  but  further  tes- 
timony was  needed.     Briggs  reflected. 

"  Hoover  was  there,  sir,  and  Shorty  Prime." 

"  When  you  came  out,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Ye-ye-yes,  sir.  't  least  Prime  was.  I  didn't  see 
Hoover." 

"  Where  was  Prime?    Are  you  sure  he  was  there ?" 

"  Right  up  at  the  Doctor's  desk,  sir,  where  you  were 
sitting." 

"He  was  there  still  when  you  came  out?" 

"  Ye-yes,  sir.     Wasn't  he,  Brodrick  ?" 

Brodrick  thought  so,  but  couldn't  be  sure.  He  had 
"  grabbed  his  cap  and  run."  "  They  were  all  rushing 
down  from  the  English  department  up-stairs." 

Halsey's  dark  face  was  very  dark  now.  His  eyes 
were  full  of  doubt  and  dread.  "  I  want  you  to  be  very 
careful  of  what  you  say,  Briggs,  and  to  say  nothing  to 
anybody  of  what  you  have  said."  And  while  they  were 
still  in  conference  steps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and 
presently  in  came  the  two  pony  members  of  the  First 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  I43 

Latin,  Prime  and  Beekman,  and  Prime  was  a  sight  to 
behold. 

"  What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself?" 
queried  Halsey,  as  he  half  turned  and  looked  the  young- 
ster over  from  head  to  foot.  Shorty's  clothes  were  wet 
and  bedraggled,  his  face  smudged  with  soot,  but  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  life  and  animation.  He  had  not  looked 
so  much  like  his  old  self  since  Lawton's  disappearance. 

"  Had  28's  pipe,  sir,  the  last  hour,"  said  the  boy,  with 
a  grin  of  pride.  "  They  were  only  pumping  easy  to  soak 
down  the  ruins,  and  their  fellows  were  tired  out  and  let 
me  and  Juhan  have  it." 

"  Where's  Julian  ?" 

"  Gone  home,  sir.     He's  wet  through." 

"  So  are  you,  but — don't  go  just  yet.  That's  all,  you 
others,"  said  Halsey,  whereat  the  three  slowly  vanished, 
leaving  only  the  janitor  staring  at  the  door. 

"  Go  out  and  shut  that  door,  and  keep  it  shut,"  said 
Halsey,  shortly,  to  the  open-mouthed  servitor,  and  then 
he  turned  on  the  boy,  now  warming  his  hands  at  the  big 
stove.  "  Prime,"  said  he,  "  you  were  with  me  at  the 
desk  when  that  alarm  came.  What  became  of  you? 
What  did  you  do  ?" 

"  I,  sir?    I  went  like  a  streak  for  61." 

"At  once,  do  you  mean? — right  after  the  class  ran 
after  me  into  Mr.  Meeker's  room  ?" 

"  Before  the  class  ran  after  you,"  said  Shorty,  with  an 
injured  air.     No  fireman  would  waste  so  many  valuable 


144  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

seconds.  "  I  was  down-stairs  and  out  of  the  school  be- 
fore they  were  fairly  off  the  benches." 

"How  could  you  get  your  cap,  sir?" 

"  Didn't  take  it,  sir !  I  ran  bare-headed  to  Twenty- 
sixth  Street,  hoping  to  be  the  first  to  give  'em  a  still 
before  I  saw  'em  coming." 

"  Give  them  a  still !     What's  that  ?" 

"  A  still  alarm,  sir.  Give  them  a  tip  to  the  fire.  But 
it  must  have  been  going  some  minutes.  They  were 
spinning  down  the  avenue  by  the  time  I  got  half-way. 
Then  I  came  back  for  my  cap,  and  school  was  coming 
out." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  any  of  them  ?  What  boys  saw 
you  coming  back  ?"  asked  Halsey,  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  youngster. 
"  Everybody  was  excited,  I  suppose,  but  me.  I've  al- 
ways run  to  fires  since  I  was  knee-high.  They  were  all 
shouting.  You  were  just  coming  out  of  Mr.  Meeker's 
room,  and  I  nearly  ran  into  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  ran  to  Twenty-sixth  Street  and 
back  in  that  time  ?" 

"  More  'n  that,  sir.  I  ran  half-way  to  Twenty-seventh 
and  out  into  the  street  and  grabbed  hold  of  61's  rope. 
There  were  only  six  or  seven  fellows  on  her,  and  I  ran 
with  'em  to  the  corner  hydrant." 

Something  of  the  master's  trouble  was  now  reflect- 
ing in  the  pupil's  face.  Something  in  the  minuteness  of 
Halsey's  questioning  suggested  graver  trouble.    "  I  hope 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  145 

nothing's  wrong,  sir,"  said  Prime,  anxiously.  "  I  know 
I  oughtn't  to  have  run  when  I  did  without  permission, 
but — we  don't  have  a  fire  next  door  every  day." 

Halsey  rose  and  placed  the  long,  lean  hand  on  the 
little  fellow's  shoulder.  Two  years  and  more  he  had 
known  him.  He  and  "Tut"  had  given  him  the  first 
touches  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and,  as  head-master,  Halsey 
had  had  many  an  occasion  to  reprove  or  reprimand,  for 
high  spirits  or  mischief  led  to  many  a  scrape,  yet  there 
was  kindness,  there  was  even  a  touch  of  tenderness,  in 
the  master's  tone  as  he  answered. 

"  Perhaps  you  ought  not  to  have  run  when  you  did," 
said  he,  "but,  as  it  is,  I'm  thankful." 

And  Shorty  could  have  sworn  Othello's  swarthy  hand 
was  trembling. 

Two  minutes  later  the  master  had  taken  the  names 
of  two  of  SVs  men  who  were  on  the  rope  when  Shorty 
joined  them.  Then,  bidding  him  say  nothing  of  this 
conversation  to  any  schoolmate  until  after  the  Doctor's 
coming  on  the  morrow,  Halsey  bade  him  hurry  home 
and  get  a  rub-down  and  dry  clothes.  As  Shorty  turned 
to  the  rack  for  his  overcoat  a  sudden  thought  struck  the 
master. 

"  Where  was  the  letter  written — Lawton's  letter — that 
you  took  to  the  Doctor  this  morning?" 

"It  didn't  say,  sir.  It  was  postmarked  Bridgeport, 
but — that  don't  prove  anything.  Somebody  else  could 
have  put  it  in  for  him  there." 

10 


146  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

Jerking  the  overcoat  from  its  peg  and  tossing  it  care- 
lessly over  his  arm,  something  bright  came  spinning  out 
of  the  pocket,  bounded  to  the  floor,  and  rolled  in  easy 
circle  up  in  front  of  the  master's  table,  where  it  struck 
a  crack,  spun  on  edge  a  second,  and  then  settled  with  a 
metallic  buzz  and  bur-r-r,  and  then  lay  still  and  shining 
opposite  the  middle  bench.  Halsey  started  and  stared, 
with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes.  Shorty,  surprised,  sped  after 
it,  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  then  held  it  between  his 
thumb  and  forefinger,  gazing  at  it  in  astonishment. 
"Why,  Mr.  Halsey,"  he  cried,  "it's  a  ten-dollar  gold 
piece !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Halsey,  "  I  know.  See  if  there  are  any 
more." 


CHAPTER  XII. 


When  school  reassembled  the  following  day  the  First 
Latin  knew  to  a  man  by  nine  o'clock  that  the  cause  of 
Shorty's  "  late"  the  previous  day  was  a  letter  from  Law- 
ton.  Warned  by  Jim  Hulker  that  the  rector  had  taken 
Hoover  to  the  Clarendon,  Briggs  scouted  miserably 
down  the  avenue  on  their  trail,  filled  with  no  one  knew 
what  nervous  apprehension  of  trouble  to  come,  and, 
dodging  in  at  the  office  a  moment  later,  ascertained  from 
a  bell  boy  that  they  had  gone  into  a  parlor  on  the  second 
floor.  Briggs  knew  what  that  meant.  The  Doctor  was 
cross-questioning  his  sullen  pupil,  and  there  were  all 
manner  of  things  Hoover  might  be  driven  into  confess- 
ing if  closely  and  scientifically  pressed,  and  what  might 
that  not  mean  for  Briggs?  Not  five  minutes  later, 
down  they  came,  the  Doctor  erect,  stately,  and  delib- 
erate as  ever,  Hoover  slinking  wretchedly  alongside.  A 
carriage  had  been  called,  and  into  this  Hoover  was  prac- 
tically hustled  by  his  preceptor,  and  together  they  were 

147 


148  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

driven  away  towards  Fourteenth  Street,  and  Briggs  was 
left  behind.  Tliey  were  going  to  see  Hoover's  fatlier, 
was  the  apparent  explanation,  and  it  boded  ill.  A  ten- 
minute  walk  took  Briggs  over  to  the  house  of  the  Meta- 
mora.  The  hose  carriage  had  just  returned,  and  was 
being  washed.  The  Hulkers  had  dropped  off  at  a  cer- 
tain billiard-hall,  said  one  of  the  firemen,  and  thither 
sped  Briggs,  It  was  a  resort  much  frequented  by  cer- 
tain of  the  Columbia  students  in  those  days,  and  there 
were  a  dozen  or  more  scattered  about  the  big  room  at 
the  moment.  Over  in  a  corner,  whispering  together, 
were  the  two  Hulkers  with  a  brace  of  followers.  Over 
against  them,  across  the  room,  ostensibly — even  ostenta- 
tiously— engaged  in  a  game  of  billiards,  were  Joy  and 
Julian,  and  all  the  little  pluck  that  Briggs  had  left  went 
oozing  out  of  his  fmger-tips  at  the  sight.  Quickly  he 
slunk  back  into  the  vestibule  and  crouched  there,  peer- 
ing through  the  glazed  doors,  uncertain  what  to  do.  A 
bar-boy,  coming  up  from  below  at  the  moment  with 
cigars  and  mixed  drinks  on  a  tray,  found  him  peering  in 
through  the  crack,  and  knew  him  at  once. 

"Sa-ay,"  whispered  Briggs,  the  moment  he  discov- 
ered who  had  come.  "  Tell  Mr.  Hulker  I  want  to  speak 
to  him  out  here  a  minute,  will  you?" 

The  boy  looked  hard  at  him,  made  no  reply,  went 
deliberately  in  with  his  tray-load,  deposited  the  glasses 
on  little  tables  near  the  big  ones,  where  a  jovial  party 
of  Columbians  were  playing,  collected  his  pay,  counted 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  I49 

it  carefully  over,  then  with  exaggerated  impudence  of 
manner  dawdled  over  to  where  the  Hulker  set  were  in 
eager  conference  in  their  corner,  and  said  something  to 
them.  Briggs  saw,  and  so  did  Joy  and  Julian,  the  back- 
ward toss  of  the  head,  the  over-the-shoulder  jerk  of  the 
thumb  towards  the  entrance,  saw  the  four  young  fellows 
start  and  glance  questioningly  thither;  then  presently, 
hands  in  pockets  and  head  in  air,  Hulker  major  came 
sauntering  out,  just  as  Julian  caught  sight  of  a  carroty 
head  ducking  behind  the  framework  of  the  doorway. 

"There's  that  sneak  Briggs  now,"  he  quickly  whis- 
pered to  his  chum.  ''  What  are  those  fellows  planning, 
do  you  s'pose  ?" 

There  was  a  brief  confabulation  in  the  hallway  with- 
out, and  then  back  came  Hulker, — no  loitering  now, — 
said  a  word  or  two  to  his  fellows,  and  the  four  picked 
up  their  canes  and  overcoats  and  started  for  the  door. 
The  bar-boy  went  running  after  them. 

"  ril  pay  you  to-morrow,"  Hulker  major  answered, 
impatiently ;  and  Julian  heard  it.  The  boy  was  im- 
portunate, and  glanced  at  the  desk.  The  clerk  came 
out  from  behind  his  barricade. 

"  Tm  sorry,  Mr.  Hulker,  but  the  manager  left  strict 
orders  that  that  account  must  be  settled  before  you 
could  be  served  again.  You  told  the  boy  you  would 
settle  everything  before  you  left,  and  to  get  those  cigars. 
Now,  I've  got  to  take  the  money  out  of  the  till  and  pay 
for  'em  if  you  don't." 


150  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

Angrily,  and  with  ugly  words,  the  elder  Hulker  turned 
on  the  clerk.  "  I  haven't  any  money  just  now,  I  tell 
you.-  We've  been  at  that  fire  all  the  morning.  It's  too 
late  to  get  a  check  cashed.  I'll  bring  you  the  money 
to-night,  Billy,  I'll  swear  to " 

But  the  controversy  was  cut  short  by  the  sudden 
entrance  of  the  manager  himself.  He  was  a  man  who 
prided  himself  on  the  "  respectability"  of  his  place. 
Order  and  decorum  were  things  he  insisted  on.  Even 
the  mildest  of  sherry-cobblers,  for  which  the  bar  was 
famous,  was  forbidden  to  the  student  or  youth  who 
showed  the  faintest  symptom  of  over-stimulation.  Case- 
hardened  politicians  and  men  about  town  avoided  Mar- 
tigny's,  for  the  reason  that  they  could  never  get  enough 
there.  Student  trade  was  something  he  catered  to 
only  so  long  as  it  came  through  the  well-bred  and  well- 
behaved  of  their  number.  The  Hulker  set  he  much 
disapproved  of  and  had  frecpently  cautioned,  but  money 
was  an  object,  and  for  a  time  those  young  fellows  had 
it  and  spent  it  in  abundance.  Of  late  there  had  come 
a  change.  Something  had  occurred  to  limit  their  sup- 
plies, and  within  a  month  they  had  run  up  bills  at 
every  neighboring  bar  or  billiard-room  where  they 
could  get  credit,  and  now  Martigny,  after  thrice  pre- 
senting his  account,  had  drawn  the  line.  Quietly  but 
firmly  he  told  the  elder  that  that  bill  must  be  settled 
then  and  there  or  it  would  be  sent  by  a  messenger  to 
his  mother  at  once.     It  was  impossible  for  the  players 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  151 

at  the  tables  not  to  hear  what  was  going  on.  There 
were  sly  winks  and  quizzical  glances.  Columbiads,  old 
or  young,  fought  shy  of  the  Hulkers,  but  even  they  were 
unprepared  for  the  scene  that  followed. 

"  I  haven't  got  a  cent  with  me,  Johnny,"  protested  the 
elder,  while  the  others  crowded  about  in  indignant 
chorus.  "  I  swear  I'll  fetch  it  to  you  to-night,  or  in  two 
hours,  if  you  must  have  it." 

"  You've  sworn  to  the  same  effect  twice  before,  Mr. 
Hulker,"  said  the  manager,  calmly,  "  and  I  cannot  trust 
you.  I  was  down  in  the  bar-room  when  your  orders 
came  for  this  round  of  drinks  and  cigars,  and  the  boy 
declared  that  you  showed  him  gold,  and  declared  further 
that  you'd  settle  the  whole  account.  It's  fourteen  dol- 
lars and  seventy-five  cents,  and  I  want  that  money  now." 

"  It  ain't  mine,  Johnny.  It  was  given  me  for  a  par- 
ticular purpose,"  protested  Hulker.  "That  was  just 
bluffing.     I  didn't  think  he'd  take  it  in  earnest." 

"  But  he  did,  Mr.  Hulker,  and  so  did  I,  and  so  will 
your  mother  when  my  messenger  gets  there  ten  minutes 
from  now.  Get  your  coat,  Mr.  Tracy,"  he  said,  turning 
to  his  assistant.  "  I'll  send  you  around  with  the  mes- 
sage. That's  all,  gentlemen.  I  won't  detain  you  further 
than  to  say  that  you  will  not  be  allowed  in  this  room 
hereafter." 

"Sa-ay,  stop!  Hold  on!"  cried  Hulker.  "Here, 
ril — I'll  pay  it  now.  But  of  all  the  dash,  dash,  dashed 
mean " 


152  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  No  bad  language,  Mr.  Hulker,"  said  Martigny,  calmly. 
"  A  special  policeman  is  at  the  door."  He  glanced  at 
the  coin  tendered  by  the  trembling  hand  of  the  leader. 
"  Give  Mr.  Hulker  five  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents," 
said  he,  calmly,  to  the  desk.  "  There's  a  friend  of  yours 
peeking  in  at  the  door.  You  might  inquire  now  what 
he  wants."  And  with  unruffled  civility  the  manager  led 
the  way  to  the  door,  closed  it  after  the  crestfallen  quar- 
tette, and  came  back  thoughtfully  chinking  the  coins,  just 
as  Joy  and  Julian,  laying  aside  their  cues,  hurried  to  the 
desk  to  pay  for  their  game. 

"  Was  that  red-headed  specimen  there  yet  when  you 
came  up,  Martigny?"  asked  Julian 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  he  scuttled  away  down-stairs  as  soon 
as  he  saw  me.     Who  is  he  ?" 

"  One  of  the  Hulker  set,  and  none  of  ours,"  was  the 
brief  answer,  as  Julian's  keen  eyes  took  in  the  two 
coins  Martigny  was  still  mechanically  passing  back  and 
forth  from  the  fingers  of  one  hand  to  the  other.  "  Ten- 
dollar  gold  pieces,"  said  he  to  Joy,  as  the  two  hurried 
down  the  stairs  and  out  on  the  busy  street.  There, 
"scooting"  along  in  the  keen  December  wind,  heads 
bowed  and  half  hidden  in  high  coat-collars,  and  hud- 
dling together,  the  discomfited  quartette,  reinforced  at 
the  corner  by  Briggs,  were  just  turning  to  cross  Broad- 
way when  a  carriage  came  driving  rapidly  by.  Seated 
therein,  erect  and  majestic,  was  the  Doctor,  apparently 
lost  in  thought.     By  his  side  a  pasty-faced  young  fellow, 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  153 

with  flitting,  beady  black  eyes,  glanced  furtively  out  and 
recognized  his  fellows,  made  some  quick  signal  with  the 
hand,  waved  it  from  the  window,  and  pointed  towards 
the  northeast  corner  of  Madison  Square. 

'Til  bet  I  know  what  that  means,"  said  Julian,  as  the 
five  halted,  irresolute,  and  gazed  after  the  carriage. 
"  Pop's  had  him  in  limbo  for  over  an  hour,  and  the  mo- 
ment he  gets  out  he  wants  those  fellows  to  meet  him. 
We  could  find  something  worth  knowing,  old  man,  if 
we  could  see  them  together  again."  But  not  until  long 
after  did  Julian  dream  how  much. 

The  Doctor  left  Hoover  at  the  steps  of  the  broAvn- 
stone  mansion,  saw  him  safely  within-doors,  summoned 
the  grave  butler  to  his  carriage,  said  a  few  words  in  low 
tone,  and  was  about  to  order  "  drive  on,"  when  he  was 
aware  of  two  young  gentlemen  running  up,  panting  a 
bit  and  red  in  the  face. 

"  Ha,  Joy  !  Julian  !"  he  cried,  as  they  raised  their  caps. 
"  What  brings  you  here  ?" 

"  What  news  of  Lawton,  sir  ?  Doremus  just  told  us 
there  was  a  letter."  And  to  substantiate  the  story, 
Doremus  himself  came  puffing  after  the  pair. 

"Where'd  you  hear  it?"  asked  the  Doctor  of  the 
third  youngster,  desirous  first  of  ascertaining  where  the 
leak  occurred. 

"  I  was  over  at  the  school  a  few  minutes  ago.  The 
janitor  told  me,  and  Mr.  Halsey  and  Prime  were  just 
going  away  together." 


154  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  Just  going  away  together !  Why,  I  supposed  every- 
body had  left  the  building  an  hour  ago." 

"  So  did  I,  sir,  but  John  said  Mr.  Halsey  had  kept 
Prime.  He  was  having  a  long  talk  with  him  'bout 
something,  and  John  heard  him  say  that  now  they  had 
proof  it  wasn't  Lawton  that  took  Joy's  watch,  and  that 
they'd  have  him  back  in  less  than  a  week." 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  Pop,  now  well-nigh  as  vehe- 
mently interested  as  his  pupils.  "  Then  you  young  gen- 
tlemen will  be  wise  to  go  direct  to  your  respective  rooms 
and  get  to  work  on  the  lessons  for  to-morrow.  It's  al- 
most dark  now.  Be  off  with  you !"  and,  with  exagger- 
ated sternness,  the  cane  was  displayed. 

"  But  was  it  so,  sir?     Have  you  heard  of  Lawton?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  instantly  relapsing  into  the 
confidential  manner  known  only  to  the  boys  he  trusted 
and  liked.  "  He  writes  that  he  had  been  ill,  but  is 
strong  again,  and  we  are  going  to  try  and  fetch  him 
back.  Now,  no  more  until  to-morrow.  Off  to  your 
books !" 

If  John,  the  janitor,  had  not  been  in  such  a  hurry  to 
get  home,  he  might  have  given  out  some  news  that 
would  have  surprised  them,  and  that  was  that  when  Mr. 
Halsey  and  Shorty  Prime  left  the  school  together  they 
went  up  the  avenue  instead  of  down,  and,  of  all  places 
in  Gotham,  Halsey  led  straight  to  the  house  of  61  Hose. 
Out  in  front  on  the  cobble-stones  the  dainty  white  Zephyr 
was  being  sponged  off  and  rubbed  dry  by  three  or  four 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  ^55 

red-shirted  experts,  who  glanced  up  and  grinned  affably 
at  "  the  little  'un"  and  looked  critically  but  in  no  sur- 
prise at  the  master.  A  New  York  fireman  of  the  late 
'50s  thought  it  bad  form  to  be  unprepared  for  anything, 
"  Here  are  two  who  can  back  up  my  statements,"  said 
the  boy,  with  confident  eyes,  as  he  beckoned  to  the 
nearest  member  of  the  Zephyr.  "Will  you  tell  Mr. 
Halsey  where  I  met  you  on  the  way  to  the  fire  this 
morning,  and  what  we  said  ?" 

The  hoseman  straightened  up  and  squeezed  the  dirty 
water  out  of  a  huge  sponge,  shifted  a  c{uid  in  his  cheek, 
thought  a  moment,  and  answered,  "  Why,  cert'nly. 
Shorty ;  right  down  there  opposite  the  Harlem  depot. 
We'd  hardly  gone  a  block  when  I  see  this  little  fellow 
come  a-running.  '  What's  a-fire.  Shorty  ?'  says  I.  '  Big 
house  next  the  stable,'  says  he.  '  Where's  your  cap  ?' 
says  I.  And  he  just  kind  a'  nodded  at  the  school  as  he 
grabbed  the  rope.  You  ain't  going  to  do  nothing  to  him 
for  coming  to  give  us  a  still  on  a  fire,  are  you  ?"  he  asked, 
with  something  hke  menace  in  his  eye. 

"No,"  said  Halsey,  with  one  of  his  rare  smiles. 
"We're  glad  to  know  it.  That'll  do,  Prime.  Come 
on."  And  Halsey,  who  never  wasted  a  second  of  time, 
touched  his  hat  to  the  Zephyrs  and  went  streaking  off 
down  the  avenue  again,  the  tails  of  his  worn  black 
frock-coat  streaming  in  the  breeze.  Shorty,  much  dis- 
appointed because  he  wasn't  called  upon  to  produce 
further  evidence  of  prowess  as  a  fireman,  skipping  along 


156  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

after  him.  The  lad's  heart  was  bounding  with  excite- 
ment and  joy.  Another  day,  and  if  successful  in  the 
quest  on  which  she  had  already  started,  Mrs.  Park, 
George  Lawton's  mother,  would  have  Snipe  once  more 
back  in  school,  and  his  accusers  would  stand  con- 
founded. Not  for  days  had  Shorty  seemed  so  like  his 
old  self,  bright,  buoyant,  and  chatting  Mke  a  parrot,  to 
the  discomfiture  of  a  most  tolerant  home  circle. 

Morning  came  and  all  the  school  was  early  "  on  deck," 
and  the  news  of  Snipe  went  buzzing  from  lip  to  lip,  and 
Briggs  nervously  flitted  from  group  to  group,  swallowing 
snubs  as  though  they  were  sugar.  Meeker  came  wearily 
in,  his  pale  face  paler  than  ever,  his  eyes  seeking  Halsey, 
who  glanced  up  and  gravely  shook  his  head,  whereat 
the  junior  master  made  a  despondent  gesture  with  both 
hands  and  went  on  into  his  own  room.  Beach,  his 
ruddy  skin  glowing  with  the  exercise  of  a  long,  vigorous 
walk,  swung  out  of  his  top-coat  and  into  his  seat  as 
though  lessons  were  to  begin  at  the  instant.  He  and 
Halsey  merely  exchanged  nods.  They  were  on  civil — 
not  confidential — terms.  The  janitor  came  and  reached 
for  the  bell,  lifted  it  by  the  handle  from  the  table,  and 
was  turning  with  it  when,  unaccountably,  it  was  jerked 
from  his  grasp  and  went  clanging  and  clattering  to  the 
floor.  The  news  of  Snipe  had  restored  heart  to  the 
First  Latin,  and  as  one  boy  the  class  turned  on  John  in 
voluble  sympathy.  John  dove  for  the  bell,  straightened 
up,  and  started  anew,  when  there  was  a  jerk  to  the 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  I57 

table,  a  snap,  and  the  little  clapper  of  the  bell  shot 
half-way  across  the  room.  Turner  dashed  upon  it  and 
held  it  up  to  public  view,  a  fine  steel  wire  firmly  at- 
tached to  it  and  stretching  to  the  leg  of  the  table. 

"  Awe,  see  here,  Mr.  Beach,  any  boy  that  would  play 
such  a  trick  as  that  ought  to  be  packed  out  of  school. 
I  move  you,  sir,  that  it  is  the  sense  of  the  First  Latin " 

But  Beach  is  in  no  mood  for  trifling.  Bang !  comes 
the  heavy  ruler  on  the  desk.  "To  your  seat!"  he 
orders.  "Ten  marks  off  for  Turner,"  and  the  class 
subsides,  while  John  speeds  away  to  borrow  the  bell 
from  the  shop  below,  and  the  master  mentally  calls  the 
roll.  "  One  absentee.  Hoover,"  he  notes  ;  instantly  calls 
Bertram  to  his  feet  and  begins  the  work  of  the  day. 
Poor  work  it  proves  to  be,  for  between  yesterday's  fire 
and  the  morning's  tidings  the  First  Latin  has  neglected 
its  studies.  Poorer  it  proves  after  ten  o'clock,  at  which 
hour  a  policeman  appears  at  the  door  and  asks  for  the 
rector.  Poorer  still  after  a  recess  at  twelve,  at  which 
time  Mr.  Hoover  himself  drives  up  in  his  carriage,  Hal- 
sey  comes  down  to  meet  him,  and  together  they  drive 
away.  At  any  other  time  the  fact  that  Halsey  was  away 
from  his  post  at  the  reassembly  after  recess  would  lead 
to  a  riot,  but  the  sight  of  the  face  of  Hoover,  pater,  is 
more  than  enough  for  the  class.  "He  looks  like  a 
ghost,"  says  Bliss.     "  What's  coming  next  ?" 

Nothing  came — ahead  of  the  Doctor.  At  the  usual 
moment  he  appeared,  and  as  usual  levelled  his  stick  at 


158 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


the  boy  at  the  foot.  "  No  message — telegraphic  ?"  he 
asked  of  Beach,  after  brief  glance  at  the  missives  on  his 
desk.  A  shake  of  the  head,  an  inaudible  "  no"  framed 
by  the  lips  were  the  answers.  A  look  of  grave  concern 
spread  over  the  Doctor's  face.  He  glanced  at  his  watch, 
turned  to  the  window,  then  back  to  the  door,  for  the 
rustle  of  skirts,  most  unusual  sound,  could  be  heard  on 
the  stairs.  Another  moment  and  there  entered  Mrs. 
Park,  George  Lawton's  mother.  She  reached  the  chair 
the  Doctor  promptly  placed  for  her,  sank  into  it,  limp 
and  despairing,  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Doctor,  Doctor !" 
she  wailed.  "  My  boy  has  not  been  near  Bridgeport. 
I  could't  fmd  a  trace  of  him — or  of  any  one  who  knew 
anything  about  him." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


There  was  a  change  in  the  composition  of  the  First 
Latin  when  the  Christmas  hohdays  came  on,  and  the 
erstwhile  "  band  of  brothers"  broke  up  for  a  fortnight 
of  froUc  at  home.  Hoover  had  not  reappeared  at  school 
at  all.  He  had  been  sent  South  to  visit  relatives  in  Mo- 
bile "  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,"  the  rector  said  to  the 
class,  but  there  was  no  twinkle  of  merriment  in  his  eye 
as  he  spoke,  and  no  responsive  laugh  along  the  line  of 
young  faces.  Strange  interviews  had  occurred  between 
the  Doctor,  Joy,  and  Julian,  from  which  "  the  senate" 
came  forth  with  sealed  lips.  Long  conferences  had  taken 
place  between  the  Doctor,  Halsey,  and  Beach,  and  twice 
had  Briggs  been  bidden  to  stay  after  school.  "  They 
wanted  me  to  tell  on  lots  of  you  fellows,"  was  his  ex- 
planation to  the  class.  "  Pop  and  Halsey  tried  to  get 
me  to  tell  where  you  spent  your  time  and  your  money 
out  of  school,  and  threatened  to  dismiss  me  if  I  didn't." 
But  the  First  Latin  answered  unanimously  that  Briggs 

159 


IQQ  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

was  a  liar.  All  the  same  they  did  wish  they  knew  what 
was  really  the  matter  with  Hoover.  There  was  one  lad 
who  could  have  given  a  new  direction  to  their  theories 
had  he  not  promised  both  the  Doctor  and  Halsey  to  say 
nothing  whatever  about  that  ten-dollar  gold  piece,  and 
a  hard  time  he  had  keeping  his  word,  and  that  was 
Shorty.  Neither  from  the  Doctor  nor  any  one,  until  long 
after,  did  he  learn  nor  did  the  school  know  that  at  least 
one  hundred  dollars  had  disappeared  from  the  drawer 
of  the  Doctor's  desk  the  eventful  morning  of  the  fire. 
Yet  what  made  it  strange  was  that  rumors  of  such  a 
thing  had  been  heard,  and  they  came  from  outside  the 
school.  Columbia  students  heard  it  whispered  at  Mar- 
tigny's.  Martigny  himself  admitted,  when  cornered, 
that  he  had  had  an  interview  with  the  rector  at  the 
residence  of  a  gentleman  in  Madison  Avenue,  by  re- 
quest, but  he  would  say  no  more.  One  thing  was  cer- 
tain. None  of  the  Hulker  set  reappeared  at  Martigny 's. 
Another  thing  was  announced,  that  Mrs.  Hulker,  who 
for  the  years  that  followed  her  husband's  death  had  fol- 
lowed his  example  and  consulted  Hoover  senior  in  all 
her  investments,  etc.,  had  turned  against  that  substantial 
citizen  and  was  filling  the  ears  of  society  with  tales  of 
his  treachery,  tales  to  which  Mrs.  Lawrence  and  her 
coterie  listened  with  bated  breath.  Then,  as  has  been 
said,  the  Hulker  boys,  too,  went  South,  "  visiting  rela- 
tives in  Savannah,"  and  the  widow  followed  a  fortnight 
later.    Ten  days  before  Christmas,  the  so-called  Hulker 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  IQl 

gang  was  without  head,  foot,  or  finances,  both  Hulker 
and  Hoover  having  disappeared.  There  were  "  no  more 
cakes  and  ale,"  no  more  cigars  and  tobacco  for  the  few 
hangers-on  about  the  quarters  of  Metamora  Hose.  But, 
after  all,  the  matter  over  which  Pop's  boys  talked  and 
wondered  most  was  :  Where  was  Snipe  Lawton  and  why 
did  nothing  further  come  from  him  ? 

There  was  a  mystery  about  the  letter  that  had  taken 
Shorty  up  to  the  Doctor's  early  that  December  morning 
and  sent  an  eager,  anxious,  loving-hearted  woman  out 
on  the  New  Haven  Railway  by  the  noon  train.  It  had 
come  by  post  to  Shorty  just  as  he  was  starting  for 
school,  and  he  had  run  first  to  the  Lawrences'  and  then, 
after  five  minutes'  eager,  excited  talk  with  Mrs.  Park, 
nearly  all  the  way  to  Murray  Hill,  and  caught  the  Doc- 
tor on  his  customary  tramp  to  college  before  he  reached 
the  reservoir.  It  Avas  only  a  little  note.  It  said  that 
Snipe  had  been  ill  of  some  kind  of  fever,  that  he  had 
found  work  and  was  feeling  independent  and  happy, 
hoping  soon  to  make  enough  to  send  five  dollars  to  Sey- 
mour, when  he  was  taken  ill.  Snipe  thought  he  "  must 
have  been  flighty  a  few  days,"  but  people  had  been  very 
kind  to  him.  He  had  helped  two  boys — his  employer's 
sons — with  their  arithmetic  every  night  until  his  pros- 
tration, and  it  had  pleased  their  mother  and  father  both, 
but  he  had  let  out  something  about  his  own  mother,  and 
now  they  were  telling  him  how  cruel  he  had  been  to 
her  and  how  he  ought  to  go  back  to  her  and  put  an  end 

11 


162  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

to  her  suffering.  Snipe  said  he  couldn't  go  back  to 
Rhinebeck  and  wouldn't  go  back  to  Aunt  Lawrence,  but 
if  Shorty  would  send  the  enclosed  note  to  his  mother 
she  would  know  that  he  loved  her  and  thought  of  her 
constantly ;  and  then  he  asked  Shorty  to  write  to  him 
how  the  boys  were  and  whether  they  missed  him,  and 
what  Seymour  said.  "  Address  your  letter  care  Massa- 
soit  House,  Bridgeport,  and  I'll  get  it  safely,  only  don't 
tell  anybody."  And,  instead  of  writing.  Shorty  had  run 
to  Pop  and  Pop  had  turned  back  with  him,  had  sent 
notes  by  him  to  Mrs.  Park  and  to  Halsey,  bidding  the 
latter  give  Shorty  whole  holiday,  which,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  school,  he  had  declined. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?"  Halsey  had  asked  him  during 
their  memorable  conference  after  the  discovery  of  the 
gold  in  his  overcoat-pocket,  and  Halsey  was  thinking 
how,  unconsciously,  the  boy  was  weaving  a  strong  thread 
in  the  net  of  suspicion  that  would  have  been  thrown 
about  him  but  for  the  lucky  accident  of  the  afternoon. 
"  Beyond  all  question,"  said  Halsey  to  himself  and  to 
the  Doctor,  "  it  was  the  intention  of  the  thief  to  cast 
suspicion  on  Prime  and  divert  it  from  himself,"  and 
there  were  just  three  lads,  so  far  as  Halsey  could  figure, 
who  besides  "  Loquax"  were  in  the  room  during  his 
few  minutes'  absence,  and  had  opportunity  to  rob  that 
till, — Briggs,  Hoover,  and  the  janitor.  The  later  dis- 
covery of  the  gold  at  Martigny's  narrowed  the  number 
to  Briggs  and  Hoover,  with  the  chances  in  favor  of  the 


FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  ^gg 

latter.     And  all  these  facts  combined  had  led  to  that 
solemn   conference   between  the   Doctor  and   Hoover 
senior,  and,  despite  all  his  protests  of  innocence,  to  the 
withdrawal  of  the  ill-favored  and  unfortunate  young  fel- 
low from  the  school.     There  was  to  be  no  scandal, — no 
allegation  of  crime.     Pop  would  have  dropped  a  thou- 
sand dollars  rather  than  have  it  openly  said  that  such 
things  had  happened  among  his  boys.     His  own  sus- 
picions for  months  past  had  centred  on  his  hulking, 
clumsy  janitor,  and  for  weeks  the  detectives  had  dogged 
and  dogged  in  vain.     What  confounded  and  troubled 
the  Doctor  was  young  Hoover's  vehement  and  persistent 
denial  of  guilt,  and  Hoover  senior's  prompt  assertion  that 
on  the  Saturday  afternoon  previous  to  quarter  day,  when 
giving  his  son  the  check  for  his  school  bill,  he  had  also 
given  him  twenty-five  dollars  in  gold  and  silver  to  pay 
certain  debts  the  young  man  had  confessed  to  him,  and 
he  was  certain  there  were  two  ten-dollar  pieces  in  the  lot. 
Those  were  solemn  days  for  the  elder  Hoover  and 
rueful  days  for  the  son.     There  were  conferences,  cross- 
examinations,  and  almost  inquisitions  at  the  solemn  old 
mansion,  Pop,  Halsey,  Martigny  (most  unwillingly),  and 
Beach  taking  part.     But  the  boy  stood  firm  to  his  first 
statement.    He  had  had  no  more  money  from  any  source 
than  that  twenty-five  dollars.     He  long  refused  to  say 
what  he  had  done  with  it,  as  only  a  Httle  silver  remained, 
but  at  last  owned  that  he  had  given  the  two  tens  "  for 
safe-keeping"  to  the  elder  of  the  Hulker  brothers  as  they 


164  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

stood  there  by  the  hose  carriage.  There  was  an  unset- 
tled account  between  them,  covering  only  a  few  dollars, 
Hoover  claimed,  but  the  Hulkers  said  a  great  deal  more, 
and  while  they  were  trying  to  straighten  it  out  the  Doc- 
tor swooped  down  on  him  and  bore  him  away.  This, 
if  true,  would  account  for  the  money  Hulker  gave  Mar- 
tigny.  But  who  took  the  money  from  the  Doctor's 
drawer?  Who  put  that  ten-dollar  piece  in  Shorty's 
overcoat-pocket  ?  Why  didn't  Shorty  wish  to  take  the 
whole  hohday  with  the  other  boys  as  proffered  by  the 
Doctor?  Halsey  had  to  ask  him,  and  it  was  plain  the 
little  fellow  hated  to  answer,  but  answer  he  did.  He 
was  being  educated  at  the  expense  of  his  relatives. 
They  had  made  occasional  criticism  of  the  Doctor's  pro- 
clivity as  to  half-holidays,  and  when  this  quarter  day 
came  Shorty  tiad  been  not  unkindly  told  that  the  money 
expended  in  payment  for  those  school  bills  was  for  his 
instruction,  not  his  amusement,  that  Saturday  and  Sun- 
day were  holidays  enough  in  the  week,  and,  finally,  that 
he  should  have  his  check  on  Wednesday,  and  meantime 
they  expected  him  to  attend  school. 

One  more  question  had  Halsey  to  ask,  and  over  it  the 
youngster  pondered  long,  though  he  answered  instantly. 
"  It  was  not  four  minutes — not  much  more  than  three — 
between  the  time  you  came  in  and  the  moment  of  the 
announcement  of  the  fire.  Was  there  no  sign  of  it 
when  you  crossed  Twenty-fifth  Street?  Didn't  you 
know  that  the  alarm  would  be  given  in  a  minute  ?" 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  IQ^ 

"  No,  sir,  there  wasn't  a  sign  or  a  sound  of  it  on  the 
avenue ;  besides,  I  came  through  Twenty-fourth  Street, 
from  the  direction  of  the  Lawrences' ;"  and  that  ended 
Halsey's  cross-examination.  To  clinch  matters,  he  had 
taken  Shorty  with  him,  as  has  been  told,  and  questioned 
a  fireman  of  61  Hose,  then  sent  him  home  for  dry 
clothing,  happy  in  the  importance  of  having  held  28's 
pipe  a  whole  half-hour,  and  hungry  as  a  bear.  Small 
wonder  that  the  family  decided  after  dinner  that  even- 
ing that  it  was  time  to  call  a  halt  on  this  craze  for  run- 
ning to  fires  on  the  part  of  their  junior  member.  But 
events  were  looming  up  that  were  soon  to  spare  them 
further  care  in  that  direction. 

What  the  First  Latin  and  Pop  and  Halsey  and  Beach 
now  longed  to  know,  however,  was,  where  was  Snipe, 
and  why  had  Mrs.  Park  failed  in  her  mission?  The 
rector  and  his  head-master  had  now  good  reason  to 
know  that  whether  Lawton  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  disappearance  of  Joy's  watch  (which  none  of  them 
could  really  believe),  he  was  not  the  only  thief  in  the 
school,  for  the  loss  of  the  hundred  dollars  long  after  his 
disappearance  conclusively  settled  that.  There  were 
now  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  lads  who  believed  that 
Snipe  was  dishonest  to  the  extent  of  stealing  a  watch, 
not  more  than  a  dozen  who  doubted  his  integrity  at  all, 
and  as  for  his  saying  in  his  letter  that  he  could  be 
reached  through  the  Massasoit  at  Bridgeport,  there  were 
theories  in  abundance  to  explain  the  fact  that  neither  in 


1(36  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

person  nor  by  letter  had  Snipe  "  reported."  He  never 
said  where  he  had  found  work ;  he  had  not  given  the 
address  of  his  benefactors ;  he  still,  it  seemed,  dreaded 
that  his  slep-father  would  enforce  his  return  to  a  life 
that  was  torment  to  a  boy  of  his  character  and  spirit. 
He  had  merely  told  Shorty  that  a  letter  addressed  care 
of  the  Massasoit,  Bridgeport,  would  reach  him ;  and, 
learning  this  through  the  admissions  wrung  from  his 
sorely  badgered  "  chum,"  and  never  waiting  to  write, 
the  impulsive  woman  had  gone  at  once  in  person,  and 
the  Massasoit  people  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  son. 
No  one  answering  his  description  had  been  there,  and 
as  for  letters  being  sent  in  care  of  the  house,  they 
showed  her  a  bundle  of  missives  so  addressed.  Every 
day  guests  would  arrive,  register,  ask  if  letters  had  come 
for  them,  ransack  the  packet,  select  their  own,  and  toss 
the  others  back.  Some  they  showed  her  had  been 
waiting  a  month  for  claimants.  If  she  were  to  leave  a 
letter  addressed  in  their  care  for  her  son  and  if  he  were 
to  call  for  it,  they  would  telegraph  to  her,  but  that  was  all 
they  could  promise,  and,  after  consulting  the  city  author- 
ities and,  of  course,  the  minister  of  the  church  to  whose 
doctrines  she  had  pinned  her  faith,  and  all  without  hear- 
ing of  a  lad  who  in  the  least  resembled  her  George,  the 
sad-hearted  woman  had  gone  miserably  back  to  Gotham 
and  to  Pop. 

Then,  of  course,  she  wrote,  and  so  did  Shorty.     Both 
letters  begged  Snipe  to  return,  but  by  this  time  Mr.  Park 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  Jgy 

himself  had  come  to  New  York  to  persuade  his  wife  to 
go  back  to  her  home  and  to  promise  that  he  himself 
would  seek  and  find  the  wandering  boy  and  fetch  him  to 
her  arms, — the  worst  piece  of  strategy  that  could  have 
been  adopted,  as  Shorty,  boy  that  he  was,  could  have 
told  her  and  would  have  told  Park.  Left  to  his  mother 
and  to  his  chum,  the  lad's  heart  might  have  relented 
and  his  stubborn  pride  dissolved,  but  there  are  men 
sublimely  gifted  with  the  faith  that  they  alone  are  com- 
petent to  deal  with  affairs,  either  public  or  personal, — 
that  without  their  aid  and  guidance  everything  is  sure  to 
go  amiss.  Park  sped  away  to  the  Massasoit  on  the 
heels  of  the  letters,  and  when  George  Lawton  drove  in 
with  the  hope  of  finding  the  longed-for  messages  from 
home,  and  went  from  the  stable  where  they  had  put  up 
the  sleigh  straight  and  eager  to  the  Massasoit,  there,  with 
his  back  to  the  huge,  red-hot  stove  and  facing  the  office 
desk,  as  though  to  guard  that  package  of  letters,  there, 
grim,  unbending,  repellent  as  ever,  stood  George  Law- 
ton's  step-father,  and  the  lad,  scenting  treachery,  turned 
and  fled. 

When  the  school  assembled  for  the  eventful  year  of 
'61,  the  First  Latin  found  itself  reduced  to  twenty-five. 
Hoover,  it  was  announced,  would  spend  some  months 
in  Mobile  with  a  private  tutor  and  rejoin  after  Easter. 
From  Snipe  Lawton  there  came  neither  message,  mis- 
sive, nor  token.  A  rumor  flew  from  hp  to  lip  one  April 
morning  that  a  lad  answering  every  description  of  the 


168 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


missing  boy  had  fallen  from  the  steps  of  a  New  Haven 
train  through  a  gap  between  the  beams  of  the  Harlem 
bridge  and  was  lost  in  the  murky  waters.  The  brake- 
man  who  saw  the  accident  was  well  known  to  members 
of  the  school  who  lived  at  New  Rochelle,  and  so  im- 
pressed the  Doctor  with  his  story  that  reward  was 
offered  for  the  body,  and  men  dragged  the  river  for 
several  days.  "  What  you  need,"  said  one  of  the  wise- 
acres of  the  First  Latin,  "is  to  fire  cannon  over  the 
stream,  and  that'll  bring  him  up  if  anything  will,"  and 
the  words  were  recalled  when,  within  another  day,  the 
guns  of  Sumter  boomed  from  shore  f  i  shore,  rousing  a 
nation  from  its  lethargy,  bringing  many  a  man  and  boy 
to  vivid  life  and  action  such  as  they  had  never  known 
or  dreamed  before. 


(■()■ 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  great  city  had  gone  wild.  Not  a  month  before 
many  of  Pop's  boys  had  ridiculed  the  lads  of  a  rival 
school  who  had  employed  a  drill-master  from  the  Ninth 
Regiment  and  met  two  evenings  a  week.  But  Shorty, 
after  vainly  trying  to  start  a  rival  company  among  his 
own  mates,  had  gone  over  and  enlisted  in  the  ranks  at 
Mulholland's,  As  a  drum-boy  he  was  not  allowed  to 
handle  a  musket  and  "  fall  in"  Avith  the  famous  regiment 
to  which  he  was  attached.  Indeed,  he  would  have  had 
to  stand  on  a  step-ladder  to  load  "  according  to  tactics" 
the  long,  glistening  musket  with  which  the  troops  were 
at  that  time  armed.  Mulholland's  boys  had  hired  a  lot 
of  old-fashioned  cadet  musquetoons,  heavy  and  cum- 
brous, but  they  were  marvellous  weapons  in  the  eyes  of 
the  lads.  Officers  on  duty  at  Governor's  Island  were 
frequent  visitors  at  the  Primes'  at  Fourteeth  Street,  and 
Shorty  could  not  but  hear  of  the  preparations  at  the 
arsenal,  the  effort  to  send   reinforcements   and   provi- 

169 


170  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

sions  to  Major  Anderson  at  Fort  Sumter.  All  the  world 
knew  at  this  time  how  the  "  Star  of  the  West"  was  fired 
on  and  forced  to  put  back  to  sea,  but  still  not  one  man 
in  five  would  admit  there  should  be  war,  and,  in  the 
great  Democratic  community,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
people  and  not  a  few  papers  almost  openly  took  sides 
with  the  South.  Two  lads  at  Pop's  actually  came  to 
school  wearing  the  colors  of  South  Carolina  in  their 
waistcoats,  and  in  the  First  Latin  the  Ballous,  whose 
father  had  embarked  his  capital  in  steamships  trading 
with  Charleston  and  Savannah,  and  Seymour,  whose 
relatives  were  nearly  all  Southern,  and  the  Graysons,  who 
were  Northerners  by  birth,  but  had  many  kindred  in 
Virginia  and  Alabama,  were  all  openly  "  secesh"  in  their 
talk.  And  still  lessons  went  on,  and  the  boys  even  had 
time  to  talk  of  Snipe  and  wish  him  back,  and  of  Hoover 
and  wish  him  in  Jericho.  Long  ere  this,  now  that  there 
were  two  absent  and  Briggs  had  not  a  friend  or  a  be- 
liever left  in  the  school,  all  the  First  Latin  had  swung 
round  into  the  conviction  that  poor  Snipe  was  the  victim 
of  circumstances  and  conspiracy,  and  that  Hoover  was 
the  cause  of  all  his  woes.  The  story  of  the  hundred- 
dollar  stealing  had  begun  to  be  accepted  as  a  fact, 
though  Pop  and  his  assistants  could  never  be  got  to 
admit  it.  The  further  fact  that  Hoover  and  those  noto- 
rious scamps,  the  Hulkers,  had  not  been  seen  in  New 
York  since  the  Christmas  holidays  had  set  afloat  a  story 
that  they  had  been  discovered  to  be  connected  in  many 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD,  I7I 

a  piece  of  rascality.  Everything  missing  at  school  for 
over  a  year  was  now  attributed  to  Hoover.  He  had 
been  able,  said  the  boys,  to  dispose  of  his  plunder 
through  those  Hulker  fellows,  who,  despite  the  money 
lavished  on  them  by  their  foolish  mother,  had  debts  in 
many  a  bar-,  billiard-,  and  pool-room,  and  were  known 
to  have  pawned  valuable  jewelry  from  time  to  time. 
She  was  with  them  somewhere  in  the  South,  and  the 
gloomy  old  house  in  Twenty-first  Street  was  cared  for 
by  the  servants,  who  were  glad  enough  to  have  their 
young  masters  away  and  suspicion  attaching  to  them- 
selves at  last  removed.  But  still  that  watch  of  Joy's 
and  certain  valuables  of  Aunt  Lawrence's  remained 
unaccounted  for.  Still  the  police  were  baffled.  Still 
there  came  no  news  as  to  Snipe's  whereabouts,  and  his 
mother,  deeply  distressed,  had  gone  home  to  Rhinebeck 
and  had  to  be  content  with  receiving  once  a  month  a 
few  lines  saying  her  boy  was  well,  working,  and  would 
return  to  her  one  of  these  days  when  he  had  earned 
enough  to  make  him  independent.  Those  letters  bore 
only  the  date,  which  often  differed  by  three  days  from 
that  of  the  post-mark,  but  the  post-mark  helped  them 
not  at  all.  One  letter  was  posted  in  New  York,  another 
in  Boston,  a  third  in  Philadelphia.  It  was  evident  that 
Snipe  was  determined  to  give  his  step-father  no  further 
chance  to  find  him.  Once  he  wrote  to  Shorty,  upbraid- 
ing him  gently  for  being  instrumental  in  putting  "  old 
Park"  on  his  track,  but  that  was  all.     Shorty  felt  it 


172  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

keenly,  but  with  that  poor  mother  and  the  Doctor  and 
his  home  people  all  importuning  him  and  telling  him 
what  was  his  duty,  the  boy  had  weakened  and  given  the 
clue,  with  the  result  that  they  had  gained  nothing  and 
he  had  lost  his  friend.  There  was  little  comfort  in  the 
assertions  of  the  one  whom  he  referred  to  as  his  "  Sun- 
day-school aunt,"  that  he  ought  to  be  thankful  to  be  rid 
of  so  undutiful  and  undesirable  a  companion.  Shorty, 
to  use  the  vernacular  of  the  day,  "  couldn't  see  it,"  and 
fell  from  grace  for  saying  so.  But  now  the  thrilling  days 
of  suspense  were  on  the  nation,  and,  while  everybody 
who  knew  the  South  knew  well  the  South  meant  fight, 
the  baa  lambs  of  the  pulpit  and  the  braying  leaders  of 
the  press  kept  on  preaching  about  the  ties  of  brotherly 
love,  the  right  of  the  people  to  assemble  peaceably 
("  even  when  under  arms"),  and  the  wrong  of  inter- 
ference or  intimidation,  so  "  Let  the  erring  sisters  go  in 
peace."  As  late  as  the  8th  of  April,  one  night  when  the 
boys  were  drilling  in  the  big  gymnasium  on  the  upper 
floor  of  Mulholland's  school,  and  quite  a  number  of 
people  were  looking  on,  a  venerable  patron  of  the  school 
stepped  forward  during  the  rest  and  proceeded  to  ad- 
dress them. 

"  Cease  all  this  waste  of  time,  boys.  Put  away  your 
cruel  weapons.  Abandon  this  senseless  strutting  and 
marching.  War  is  a  relic  of  the  dark  ages, — of  bar- 
barism. The  world  has  grown  wise  with  years,  and  of 
the  enlightened  nations  of  the  earth   America   stands 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  ^^73 

foremost.  Trust  to  the  broad  views  of  our  statesmen 
and  the  good  sense  of  the  people.  They  will  ever  stand 
between  us  and  the  horrors  of  a  civil  war." 

There  was  much  applause  among  certain  mothers  and 
sisters  sitting  along  among  the  spectators,  but  Mulholland 
and  the  boys  did  not  join.  It  was  significant  of  what 
the  drill  sergeant  thought  that  the  moment  the  hand- 
clapping  subsided  he  commanded  attention  and  then 
"Fix  bayonet!"  Within  the  week  that  followed,  the 
broad  views  of  many  a  Southern  statesman  were  mani- 
fest in  the  shotted  guns  trained  on  Sumter,  The  good 
sense  of  the  people,  so  far  from  "  standing  between  us 
and  the  horrors  of  civil  war,"  boiled  over  in  a  genuine 
Anglo-Saxon  exuberance  of  battle  fervor.  The  news 
that  the  stars  and  stripes  were  lowered  in  Charleston 
Harbor  sent  them  to  the  peak  of  every  staff  throughout 
the  North,  and  men,  women,  and  children  swarmed 
upon  the  streets,  decked  with  the  badges  of  red,  white, 
and  blue.  All  Gotham  had  caught  the  w^ar  fever.  The 
President's  call  for  the  services  of  the  State  militia  to 
defend  the  capital  until  the  volunteers  could  be  enrolled 
sent  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  through  the  city  the  very 
next  morning,  the  famous  New  York  Seventh  following 
by  special  train  late  the  following  day,  and  the  Eighth 
Massachusetts  marched  down  Fifth  Avenue  the  same 
evening  the  Seventh  went  away.  The  best  blood  and 
brawn  of  the  metropolis  and  of  the  Bay  State  were  the 
first  to  respond.      The  Sixty-ninth,  Seventy-first,  and 


174  FI^OM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

Seventy-ninth,  Irish,  American,  and  Scotch  regiments 
of  the  great  city,  followed  within  the  week,  the  jamity 
Frenchmen  of  the  Fifty-fifth,  the  Grays  of  the  Eighth,  the 
Blues  of  the  Twelfth  were  promptly  under  arms.  Every 
able-bodied  man  of  the  tribe  of  Prime  was  in  uniform 
and  away  to  the  front  before  the  month  of  May  was 
ushered  in,  and  Shorty,  with  breaking  heart,  had  shut 
himself  in  his  room  and  sobbed  himself  sick  because 
forbidden  to  even  think  of  going.  He  listened  to  the 
thrilling  strains  of  the  Seventh's  splendid  band  until  the 
last  sound  of  their  favorite  "  Skyrockets"  was  drowned 
in  the  hoarse  cheers  of  the  crowds  that  saw  them  off. 
He  went  to  school  as  ordered  and  got "  flunked"  in  every 
lesson.  He  sat  on  the  mourners'  bench  in  utter  misery 
and  despond  all  through  the  week  that  followed  the 
going  of  the  city  troops,  after  having  deliberately  ab- 
sented himself  from  every  session  during  which  a  regi- 
ment happened  to  be  marching  away,  and  in  all  the  two 
weeks  that  followed  the  coming  of  the  news  from  Sum- 
ter only  once  had  there  come  into  his  life  a  moment  of 
joy  and  comfort,  and  that  was  the  day  following  the  de- 
parture of  the  Seventy-first  (red-jacketed  drum  corps 
and  all, — all  except  poor  Shorty),  when,  as  the  First  Latin 
bustled  out  into  the  street  at  recess,  and  Shorty,  last  of 
all,  came  drearily  down  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
ordered  out,  in  fact,  by  Mr.  Beach,  he  was  greeted  on 
the  sidewalk  by  a  jeering  laugh  and  Briggs's  taunting, 
sneering  words.     "  Hullo,  drummer !     So  you  thought 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  I75 

you'd  better  stay  home  where  there  wasn't  going  to  be 
any  show  of  fighting,  did  you  ?"  and  Briggs  might  have 
known  what  would  happen.  Just  as  before,  in  a  sud- 
den whirl  of  fury,  the  youngster  flew  at  him,  landed 
both  fists  on  the  freckled  "  mug"  before  Briggs  could 
either  dodge  or  guard ;  bore  him  backward  in  the  full 
force  of  the  instant  attack ;  the  carroty  head  banged 
on  the  curb  and  knocked  him  stupid,  and  then  the 
peace-makers  really  might  have  been  less  deliberate  in 
pulling  Shorty  off.  Briggs  was  a  wreck  when  his  raging 
assailant  was  dragged  away,  and  Halsey,  wild-eyed,  came 
rushing  out  to  stop  the  fray.  "  Prime,  Prime  !"  he  said, 
as  he  held  him  by  the  collar.  "  You've  tried  the  rector's 
patience  to  the  utmost  this  last  week,  and  I  fear  this  will 
end  it  all." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  does  !"  panted  Shorty.  "  I'd  rather 
be  killed  than  kept  here  any  longer.  I  hope  he  will  expel 
me.  Then  perhaps  they'll  let  me  go  where  I  belong !" 
And  in  a  torrent  of  wrath  the  youngster's  swelling  heart 
burst  over  all  bounds,  and  he  was  led  sobbing  away. 

Still  dazed,  half  blind,  and  bleeding,  Briggs  was  lifted 
to  his  feet.  "  It  served  you  right,  you  hulking  coward," 
said  Joy,  as  he  and  Bertram  led  the  battered  object  to 
the  horse-trough  in  the  stable.  "  You  couldn't  have  in- 
sulted him  more  brutally." 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  said  the  Doctor  that  evening,  gravely, 
to  a  gray-haired  grandsire,  who  was  himself  burning 
with  longing  to  go  to  the  front.     "  That  boy  can't  study 


176  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

now.  You  see  he  was  regularly  enlisted  as  a  drummer. 
He  fully  believed  that  when  his  regiment  was  called  out 
that  nothing  could  keep  him  back,  and,  boy-like,  he  has 
said  so  among  his  fellows, — probably  bragged  of  it  a  lit- 
tle. He  who  had  been  so  boastfully  confident  now  has 
to  stay  and  face  the  sneers  of  the  school,  while  big  boys 
of  eighteen  and  nineteen  like  Dix  and  Julian  have  gone 
with  the  Seventh.  It  breaks  his  heart,  my  friend. 
There's  no  likelihood  of  fighting  just  now.  The  rebels 
won't  be  fools  enough  to  attack  Washington.  Send  him 
down  there  to  his  uncle.  Let  him  have  a  taste  of  camp 
life.  The  city  troops  will  come  home  as  soon  as  the 
volunteers  begin  to  arrive.  In  fact,  if  you  don't  there'll 
be  incessant  war  right  here  at  school." 

"But  there's  his  examination  for  college,"  said  the 
head  of  the  Primes,  himself  a  don  of  Columbia. 

"  Well,  didn't  you  assure  Dix  and  Julian  that  Colum- 
bia would  admit  them  without  examination  whenever 
they  knocked  at  the  doors  ?  Didn't  you  at  faculty  meet- 
ing say  that  three  seniors,  who  never  could  have  got 
their  diplomas  in  the  world,  should  have  their  degrees 
without  further  question,  despite  the  fact  that  they  have 
dragged  along  at  the  foot  of  their  class  for  the  last  two 
years,  all  just  because  of  the  fact  that  they  have  gone  to 
the  front  with  their  regiments  ?" 

"  But  then  he's  so  small  for  his  years,"  was  the  next 
objection. 

"  All  the  better  soldier !     Those  big,  long  giants  break 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  I77 

down.  Those  stocky  little  fellows  are  the  stayers. 
Besides,"  says  Pop,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  size 
doesn't  seem  to  count  for  much.  You — ought  to  have 
seen  Briggs." 

"  Was  he  well  pounded  ?"  asked  the  head  of  the  house, 
with  interest  ill  becoming  his  years  and  station.  Per- 
haps he  is  thinking  of  old,  old  days  at  "  Harrow  on  the 
Hill,"  when  he,  too,  had  been  under  the  ban  for  more 
than  one  forbidden  fight. 

"  Halsey  says  he  looked  as  though  he'd  been  mauled 
by  a  wildcat ;"  and  to  save  his  reputation  the  Doctor 
cannot  repress  a  grim  smile. 

"  The  young  rascal !"  says  the  head  of  the  house. 

Shorty,  meantime,  remanded  to  his  room  to  cool  off 
and  meditate  on  his  sins,  has  done  neither.  The  drum 
which  was  his  joy  and  the  jaunty  uniform  are  gone. 
To  his  unspeakable  grief,  there  had  come  an  order  for 
them  from  the  adjutant  the  day  before  the  regiment 
marched.  Another  boy  had  been  accepted  in  his  place, 
a  bigger  boy,  who  could  hardly  squeeze  into  either 
jacket  or  trousers,  but,  of  course,  did  not  return  them. 
They  were  regimental  property,  and  yet  Shorty  felt  a 
sense  of  personal  indignity  that,  even  when  he  couldn't 
go,  the  adjutant  should  permit  any  other  one  to  take  his 
place.  Of  his  misery  when,  clinging  to  his  perch  on  a 
lamp-post  above  the  cheering  throngs,  he  saw  those 
twenty  red-jacketed  lads,  led  by  the  drum-major,  coming 
proudly  trudging  down  Broadway  at  the  head  of  the 

12 


178  FI^OM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

splendid  command,  it  would  be  impossible  to  tell ;  and 
now,  twitted  and  insulted  at  school  because  he  was 
bound  to  obey  the  decree  of  his  grandparents,  virtually 
suspended  for  resenting  the  insult,  and,  last  of  all,  prac- 
tically a  prisoner  in  his  room,  poor  Shorty's  cup  was 
full. 

There  came  a  step  in  the  hallway  without,  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  the  butler's  boy,  a  stanch  friend,  ally,  and 
fellow-fireman,  stood  and  waited.  There  was  no  an- 
swer, and  he  stooped  and  hailed  through  the  keyhole. 

"  Mr.  Shorty,  father  sent  me  up  with  some  dinner, — 
and  there's  a  letter,  looks  like  Mr.  Snipe's  writin'." 

The  door  flew  open  and  the  letter  was  seized. 

"  Dear  Shorty,"  it  read, — "  I  used  to  think  nothing 
would  ever  make  me  a  soldier  any  more  than  nothing 
could  keep  you  from  being  one,  but  here  I  am,  high  pri- 
vate in  the  rear  rank,  and  as  big  if  not  as  broad  as  the 
rest  of  'em.  I  swore  I  was  eighteen  and  over.  I  have 
the  height  and  looked  strong.  They  wanted  to  fill  the 
company  up  to  a  hundred,  and  there  was  no  further 
question.  Fancy  my  delight  when  we  went  into  camp 
next  your  regiment  and  my  surprise  when  I  couldn't 
find  you  among  the  drum-boys.  Billy  Archer  says  you 
nearly  went  crazy  when  they  came  away  without  you. 
What's  the  matter?  You  are  coming,  aren't  you?  I 
saw  your  Uncle  Hal  in  his  captain's  uniform  yesterday, 
and  stood  up  and  saluted  with  the  rest.     I  shan't  tell 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 


179 


you  my  regiment  or  address  this  time,  though  Park 
couldn't  take  me  away  from  Uncle  Sam  even  if  he  did 
come.  But  when  you  get  here  hunt  up  Billy  Archer, 
and  he'll  tell  you  where  to  find  your  old  chum. 

"  Snipe." 

That  night,  late,  it  occurred  to  some  one  that  it  might 
be  well  to  go  up  and  see  Shorty  and  try  to  reason  with 
him  and  comfort  him,  or  "  do  something,"  as  it  was 
vaguely  expressed.  The  room  door  was  wide  open,  the 
dinner  stood  untasted  on  the  tray,  the  tray  was  on  the 
bed,  and  Shorty  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

It  was  a  starlit  summer  night  following  a  day  of 
moist,  debilitating  heat.  It  had  rained  at  dawn,  and 
then,  as  the  clouds  of  heaven  broke  away  and  went  sail- 
ing off  towards  the  distant  heights  on  the  western  hori- 
zon, the  sun  had  poured  hotly  down  on  open  fields  and 
sodden  red  roads  and  long  rows  of  wet,  white  tentage, 
veiling  the  landscape  with  miniature  clouds  from  the 
teeming  earth.  All  day  long  soldiers  innumerable  lolled 
about  the  camps  and  thronged  the  sentry-posts  that 
hned  the  roadway,  chaffing  the  passers-by  or  dickering 
with  darky  vendors  of  fruit,  cakes,  and  pies, — amateur 
soldiers  were  these,  as  any  veteran  could  tell  at  a  glance, 
some  in  gayly  trimmed  regimentals,  some  in  antiquated 
tail-coats,  more  in  fancy  jackets,  few  in  serviceable  garb, 
and  nearly  all  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets.  A 
bored,  jaded,  time-killing  lot  they  looked.  The  ground 
was  too  wet  and  muddy  for  drill.  The  first  flush  of 
patriotic  fervor  had  worn  away.     They  had  rushed  to 

180 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  181 

the  front  at  the  earliest  call,  expectant  of  tremendous 
doings,  and,  except  the  street-fight  of  the  Sixth  Massa- 
chusetts in  Baltimore  and  a  few  shots  heard  at  the 
picket-posts,  there  had  been  no  taste  of  battle.  They 
were  the  three-months  men,  mainly  State  militia,  hur- 
ried down  to  hold  Washington  against  attack,  while  the 
volunteers,  the  "  three-years  men"  of  the  war,  were  or- 
ganizing and  drilling  behind  them.  Their  three  months 
had  nearly  expired,  and  most  of  them  were  eager  to  go 
home  so  long  as  there  was  nothing  going  on  at  the  front. 
Some,  indeed,  were  ready  to  go  anyhow,  many  with  the 
promise  of  commissions  in  the  volunteers,  many  with 
the  resolve  to  re-enlist  for  the  war,  but  all  anxious  to 
visit  home  and  friends  and  families  and  get  a  more  de- 
liberate start  than  that  initial  impulse  which  sent  them 
forward  the  latter  part  of  April,  burdened  with  knap- 
sacks they  knew  not  how  to  pack  or  wear  and  guns  that 
they  had  never  shot. 

And  here,  along  the  main  pike  to  Fairfax  and  Centre- 
ville,  one  on  each  side  of  the  way,  a  New  York  and  a 
New  England  regiment  of  miUtia  had  been  swapping 
comments  and  criticisms  most  of  the  afternoon,  badger- 
ing each  other  when  there  came  no  one  else  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  their  shafts,  and  mischievously  turning  with 
one  accord  on  passers-by  whose  lack  of  rank  or  escort 
suggested  improbability  of  effective  resentment. 

But  as  the  day  wore  on  and  the  mud  thickened  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  and  staff-officers,  orderlies,  and  am- 


132  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

bulances  passing  by  began  to  veer  out  to  right  and  left 
and  encroach  on  the  sentry-posts  and  the  grinning 
groups  that  lay  just  back  of  them,  "the  boys"  waxed 
more  savage  and  sarcastic.  They  had  occupied  those 
camps  full  six  weeks,  and  thought  they  owned  the 
neighborhood.  Back  towards  Washington,  on  every 
rising  ground,  the  red  embankments  showed  where 
earthworks  had  been  thrown  up  to  defend  the  front. 
Along  the  beautifully  wooded  slopes  to  the  north  and 
west  the  fair  contours  were  scarred  and  defaced  with 
freshly  spaded  parapets,  and  through  gaping  embrasures 
here  and  there  frowned  the  black  muzzles  of  the  Union 
guns.  Over  a  rounded  knoll  half  a  mile  to  the  north- 
west of  the  camp  of  the  New-Yorkers  the  stars  and 
stripes  hung  lazily  from  a  white  staff,  and  there  were 
the  quarters  of  a  division  commander,  whose  aides  and 
orderHes  had  been  oddly  busy  all  day  long,  responding, 
according  to  rank,  with  a  frown  of  annoyance  or  a  grin 
of  amusement,  to  the  hail  of  comment  or  question  from 
the  loungers  along  the  line.  But  at  four  in  the  after- 
noon a  whole  squadron  of  regular  cavalry,  with  high- 
collared,  yellow-trimmed  jackets  and  jaunty  forage-caps, 
came  silently  squashing  by,  taking  the  mud  and  the 
middle  of  the  road  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  the  chaff 
and  comment  as  of  no  consec|uence  whatever.  Hardly 
had  their  flapping  silken  guidons  disappeared  around  a 
bend  of  the  pike  three  hundred  yards  farther  to  the 
west  than  there  came  jogging  into  view  from  the  rear  a 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  ^gS 

long  column  of  horses,  gun-carriages,  and  caissons,  the 
cannoneers  sitting  motionless  on  the  chests,  the  drivers 
carefully  guiding  their  powerful  teams.  A  wiry  captain, 
followed  by  his  bugler,  came  trotting  forward,  surveyed 
the  mud  that  interposed  along  the  defile  between  the 
two  camps,  nodded  cheerily  to  the  "  Going  out  ahead. 
Cap?"  sung  out  to  him  by  the  nearest  New-Yorkers, 
and  signalled  with  gauntleted  hand  to  the  leading  chief 
of  section  to  incline  to  the  right  and  take  the  turf  at  the 
roadside ;  and  so  they,  too,  went  clinking  steadily  by, 
twelve  long  teams  of  six  horses  each,  hauling  six  bronze 
"Napoleon"  guns,  heavy  fellows,  and  six  loaded  cais- 
sons. Behind  them  came  their  forge  and  battery  wagon, 
a  mule-drawn  baggage-wagon  or  two,  and  one  of  the 
famous  light  batteries  of  the  regular  army  had  passed 
through  the  thronging  lines  of  the  State  militia,  who 
emptied  their  tents  to  see  the  procession  and  to  hurl 
question  after  question  as  to  the  meaning  of  it  all.  And 
this  was  only  a  beginning,  for  right  behind  it  came  the 
flaunting  red  silk  guidon  of  another  battery,  differing  from 
the  first  only  in  that  the  men  wore  red-trimmed  jackets 
instead  of  dark-blue  blouses,  and  that  the  cannoneers 
w^ere  skipping  along  the  roadside  or  squashing  through 
the  mud,  their  captain  holding  sternly,  even  on  a  short 
march,  to  one  of  the  rules  of  the  light  artillery,  that  the 
horses  should  have  to  pull  as  little  weight  as  possible. 
And  no  sooner  was  he  fairly  by  and  his  men  well  within 
the  lane  of  the  militia  camps  than  the  storm  of  fun  and 


184  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

chaff  rose  to  uproar,  silenced  only  when  the  tail  of  the 
column  had  passed  beyond.  By  this  time,  too,  the 
officers  were  coming  out  to  take  a  look.  Then  there 
rose  a  burst  of  martial  music  and  a  sound  of  cheering 
up  the  roadway,  and,  preceded  by  a  band,  there  rode 
into  sight  some  mounted  officers,  behind  whom  gleamed 
the  sloping  barrels  of  the  arms  of  a  battalion  of  infantry ; 
and  now  New  York  and  New  England  dropped  cards, 
checkers,  or  chat,  and  the  last  laggards  of  both  regiments 
come  streaming  to  line  the  roadway  and  scan  these  bold 
invaders.  Even  the  colonels  mount  their  horses  and 
ride  in  among  their  men,  and  as  the  music  ceases  and 
the  regiment  picks  its  way  gingerly  through  the  mud, 
the  cry  goes  up  from  the  eastward  skirts  of  camp, 
"  The  Fire  Zouaves !"  and  that  cry  is  taken  up  and 
passed  from  lip  to  lip,  and  order  and  discipline,  even  of 
these  primitive  war  days,  all  are  forgotten,  and  as  the 
long  column  comes  winding  down  the  gentle  slope  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine,  and  bright  bits  of  scarlet  glow 
through  the  sombre  tone  of  gray,  and  the  old  familiar 
fire  shirts  are  recognized,  as  one  man  the  New-Yorkers 
set  up  the  welcoming  fireman  chorus  of  the  streets  of 
Gotham,  and  the  welkin  rings  with  shouts  of  "  Hi,  hi, 
hi !"  mingled  with  rapturous  cheers.  Prompt  comes 
the  answer  from  a  thousand  lusty  throats.  Caps  and 
hats  are  tossed  in  air,  ay,  and,  as  the  column  and 
the  colors  mingle,  canteens,  tossed  from  bystanders  to 
marchers,  are  pressed  to  thirsty  lips  and  passed  from 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  135 

hand  to  hand.  Officers  and  men  alike,  militia  and  vol- 
unteers, the  soldiers  of  Manhattan  are  shouting  greeting 
and  rejoicing,  and  the  next  moment,  despite  all  efforts 
of  the  senior  officers  to  stop  it,  the  Zouaves  are  forcibly 
seized  and  dragged  from  the  marching  ranks,  hugged 
and  hauled  and  slapped  on  arm  and  chest  and  leg  and 
shoulder,  wherever  knapsack,  blanket,  and  cartridge- 
box  do  not  interpose  below  the  neck,  and  men  come 
running  with  more  canteens,  and  Zouaves  are  lugged 
bodily  away  to  the  neighboring  sutler's  tent,  and  when, 
finally,  the  last  unmolested  files  of  the  Fire  Zouaves 
have  gone,  cap-waving  and  cheering,  on  in  the  trail  of 
the  batteries,  the  camp  of  their  fellow-townsmen  is  filled 
with  stragglers  who  are  only  recovered  an  hour  later 
through  the  medium  of  strong  patrols. 

But  meantime  the  batteries  have  "  gone  into  park," 
unhitched  and  unharnessed  back  of  the  Virginia  farm- 
house just  beyond  the  bend.  The  Zouaves  have  trailed 
off  into  an  open  field  between  them  and  the  tents  of 
the  New-Yorkers.  Staff-officers  have  conducted  the 
commanders  to  the  designated  spots  for  their  bivouac. 
Two  other  regiments  of  the  new  volunteers  have  fol- 
lowed, marching  somewhat  wearily  past  the  now  thor- 
oughly roused  camps  of  the  militia,  and  as  the  sun  sinks 
to  the  west  and  heavy  knapsacks  are  unslung  and  arms 
stacked  in  the  fields  and  sentry-posts  established,  every- 
body begins  to  realize  among  the  tents  of  the  earlier 
comers  that  a  move  to  the  front  is  in  contemplation, 


Igg  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

just  when  they  were  counting  on  a  homeward  move  to 
the  rear. 

And  now  as  the  tattoo  drums  are  bracing  up,  a  score 
of  officers  are  gathered  about  the  tents  of  the  New  York 
colonel,  chatting  over  the  probabilities.  With  them  are 
two  of  the  New  England  officers,  one  a  grave,  taciturn 
captain  who  has  listened  for  half  an  hour  without  a 
word.  By  several  officers  the  idea  has  been  advanced 
that  if  a  forward  move  is  intended  in  response  to  the 
"  on  to  Richmond"  cry  of  the  press,  many  of  the  men 
will  demur.  They  were  called  into  service  in  mid- 
April ;  it  is  now  mid-July,  Many  of  them  are  clerks 
who  will  lose  their  positions,  married  men  who  have 
made  no  provision  for  their  families,  staid  citizens  who 
from  sense  of  duty  sprang  to  the  front  at  the  first  sum- 
mons, so  as  to  help  hold  the  fort  until  the  nation  could 
organize  its  army  of  volunteers.  Of  regulars  at  the  time 
there  were  less  than  ten  thousand,  scattered  from  Maine 
to  Oregon,  from  Mackinaw  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Now 
the  first  levies  of  the  volunteers  were  pouring  in.  Here 
already  in  front  of  Washington  were  regiments  from 
New  York,  New  Jersey,  Michigan,  Ohio,  even  far  away 
Wisconsin.  Why  should  the  government  require  of  the 
State  militia,  ralhed  at  the  capital  solely  to  defend,  that 
it  should  march  away  southward  to  attack  an  enemy  in 
position  ?  Similar  views  were  being  expressed  in  other 
militia  camps,  said  the  speaker,  and  the  colonel  looked 
worried. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  187 

At  last  he  turned  to  the  stalwart,  silent  captain  from 
the  regiment  over  the  way. 

"  What  do  your  people  say,  Captain  Stark  ?"  he  asks. 

"Nothing,"  is  the  answer,  as  the  tall,  bearded  man 
puffs  meditatively  at  the  brier-root  pipe,  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  his  elbow  on  his  knee. 

"Well,  you  were  mustered  in  about  the  same  date 
we  were.  Don't  some  of  your  boys  talk  of  going  home, 
and  wanting  to  ?" 

"  Not — audibly,"  says  Stark. 

"  Well,  they  must  be  thinking  a  lot.  They  are  fixed 
pretty  much  as  ours  are,"  hazards  a  field-officer. 

"  Possibly,"  says  Stark,  tapping  out  the  ashes  on  the 
leg  of  the  camp-stool.  "  But  we  made  no  stipulation  as 
to  the  duty  to  be  required  of  us.  We  tendered  our  ser- 
vices and  expect  to  take  our  chances." 

"  Do  you  mean  your  boys  would  all  go,  no  matter 
how  far  south  they  were  ordered  ?"  asks  a  young  officer 
who  has  already  had  much  to  say  about  his  own. 

"  My  men  will  go  wherever  they're  ordered,"  answers 
Stark,  briefly.  "  I  haven't  any  boys,  except  one,  and 
he's  so  much  of  a  man  I  never  found  him  out  till  we  got 
here." 

"  That  brown-eyed  young  fellow  I've  seen  round  your 
tent?"  queries  the  colonel,  deeming  it  wise  to  change 
the  tenor  of  the  talk. 

"  The  very  one." 

"  How'd  you  come  to  take  him  ?     He's  too  light  built 


188  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

for  heavy  work.  He's  outgrown  his  strength  and  he 
don't  look  eighteen,"  says  the  major,  glad  enough  to 
shift  implied  criticism  to  the  rival  regiment. 

"  Well,  his  employers  said  he  was  worth  three  men 
around  the  shop,  and  he  was  bound  to  go.  The  inspec- 
tors passed  him,  and  there  he  was  in  my  company." 

"  Looks  all  legs,"  hazards  the  colonel. 

"And  is  all  head,"  says  Stark.  "That's  why  he's 
always  studying  tactics  and  regulations  round  my  tent 
instead  of  fooling  away  time  with  the  company.  There 
goes  tattoo.  Good-night,  gentlemen,"  and  the  New- 
Englander  rises  and  presently  strides  away. 

Over  within  the  lines  of  his  own  regiment  Stark  passes 
line  after  line  of  company  streets  where  the  men  are 
skylarking  or  chatting,  waiting  for  the  "  fall  in"  signal 
at  the  close  of  the  sounding  of  tattoo.  The  drums  and 
fifes  are  hammering  noisily  down  along  the  color  line  as 
he  reaches  his  own  company  and  his  first  sergeant 
comes  forward  and,  saluting,  says,  "  Did  young  Lawton 
find  you,  sir?" 

"No.     What  did  he  want?" 

"  Permission  to  go  out  of  camp,  sir.  Said  he  knew 
an  officer  in  the  Fire  Zouaves.  The  heutenant  signed 
a  pass,  and  he  took  it  to  the  colonel,  but  he  wished  the 
captain  should  know." 

"  Very  well.     Form  your  company,"  says  the  captain. 

The  long  wailing  notes  of  the  tattoo  and  the  roll  of 
the  drums  came  abruptly  to  an  end.     The  silent,  shad- 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  189 

owy  double  rank  stood  to  attention,  and,  lantern  in 
hand,  the  sergeant  called  his  roll.  Two  names  met  with 
no  response  besides  those  of  men  on  guard.  Two  men 
were  reported  absent.  One  of  them  came  on  the  run 
as  the  company  broke  ranks. 

"  I  was  with  Lawton,  sir,"  said  he,  to  his  soldierly 
commander.  "  They  let  us  into  the  Zouave  camp  all 
right,  but  didn't  want  to  let  us  out.  Lawton  couldn't 
get  away  at  all.  As  many  as  twenty  of  those  red-shirted 
fellows  nabbed  him,  and  there  he  is  a  prisoner." 

"  In  fun,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Why,  yes.  They  seem  to  know  him  well  and  be 
mighty  glad  to  see  him.  I  told  my  brother,  who  is  in 
one  of  their  companies,  that  Lawton  must  come  home 
with  me  or  he'd  get  into  trouble,  but  the  crowd  just 
laughed." 

"  Very  well.  Go  to  your  tent,"  said  Stark,  and  went 
to  his  own.  There  on  the  little  camp-desk  was  a  note 
which  he  tore  open  and  read.  Briefly  it  said  that  Law- 
ton  had  recognized  some  old  friends  among  the  Fire 
Zouaves,  and  had  sought  the  captain  to  get  permission 
to  go  and  see  them  early  in  the  evening.  Even  though 
the  lieutenant  took  the  responsibility  and  signed  the 
pass,  and  the  colonel  too,  he  wanted  his  captain  to  know 
whither  he  had  gone  and  that  he  would  be  back  at 
tattoo. 

But  he  wasn't  back  at  tattoo,  nor  at  taps.  Not  until 
eleven  o'clock  did  Stark  hear  the  sound  of  the  young 


190  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

soldier's  voice.  Lawton  was  scratching  at  the  tent- 
flap. 

"What  is  it?"  shouted  the  captain. 

"  It's  Lawton,  sir, — come  to  report  return.  I  was 
held  by  those  men,  quite  a  lot  of  them,  and  simply 
couldn't  make  them  understand  about  our  discipline." 

"Never  mind,"  interposed  Stark.  "Go  to  bed  now 
and  get  all  the  sleep  you  can.  You  may  need  it ;"  and 
the  captain  rolled  over  on  his  cot,  anxious  to  try  his 
own  prescription. 

But  the  late  comer  hesitated.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  irresolute.  Plainly  there  was  something  which  he 
wanted  to  say  to  his  commander.  The  officer  of  the 
day,  lantern  in  hand,  came  along  at  the  moment,  his  red 
sash  crossed  upon  his  broad  chest.  He  raised  the  lan- 
tern and  peered  at  the  tall  young  soldier,  whose  coat 
and  trousers  looked  as  though  they  had  been  made  for 
a  shorter  lad,  and  the  face  that  was  revealed  seemed 
white  and  full  of  trouble. 

"  I  was  just  speaking  to  my  captain,  sir,"  explained 
the  young  soldier,  and  the  officer  of  the  day  went  briskly 
one  way,  the  soldier,  dejectedly,  another. 

"  Homesick,  and  wants  to  go  and  see  his  mother," 
said  the  officer  of  the  day  to  himself.  "  Well,  he  needn't 
waste  time  pleading  with  Stark.  Might  as  well  talk  to 
a  stone." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


"On  to  Richmond,"  said  the  Northern  papers. 
"  Sweep  the  flag  of  rebellion  to  the  Gulf!"  And  obedi- 
ent to  popular  clamor,  and  in  defiance  of  common  sense, 
the  Government  ordered  its  little  army — a  handful  of 
regulars  and  marines,  three  dozen  regiments  of  State 
militia,  or  of  half-drilled,  unseasoned  volunteers — to  ad- 
vance and  attack  an  army  of  equal  size,  made  up  of  en- 
thusiastic Southerners  as  undrilled  as  the  Northern 
volunteers,  but  the  flower  of  their  manhood,  defending 
their  own  soil,  in  their  chosen  position.  The  July  sun 
beat  hotly  down  on  the  long  column,  plodding  south- 
westward  through  Fairfax.  Many  a  poor  fellow  fell  by 
the  wayside,  unable  to  keep  up  the  pace  and  carry  his 
heavy  burden.  Many  a  regiment  broke  ranks  at  sight 
of  a  farm  well  or  at  mention  of  a  spring,  and  scores  of 
stragglers  stopped  to  pick  blackberries  by  the  way,  de- 
fiant of  the  pleadings  of  their  officers.  Some  Pennsyl- 
vania militiamen,  at  the  last  moment,  refused   to  go 

191 


192  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

farther  than  Centreville,  and,  with  a  New  York  militia 
battery,  demanded  their  discharge  on  the  plea  that  their 
time  had  expired.  Some  others  succeeded  in  per- 
suading the  authorities  in  individual  cases,  and,  to  the 
scandal  of  those  who  tried  and  did  not  succeed,  turned 
back  to  Washington.  Those  jaunty  red  jackets  of  the 
drum-boys  in  Shorty's  old  regiment  looked  worn  and 
tawdry  by  this  time,  and  the  youngster  whose  wrists 
protruded  far  beyond  the  limit  of  the  sleeves  designed 
for  the  "  little  un"  had  more  than  once  wished  the  orig- 
inal occupant  back  in  his  old  place  and  his  successor  out 
of  it.  But  that  drum  corps  had  seen  the  last  of  their 
smallest  member,  and  he  of  them,  for  many  a  day. 
Billy  Archer,  he  who  was  to  tell  Shorty  when  he  came 
where  to  find  Snipe,  had  been  sent  home  sick  at  the  end 
of  the  first  month,  and  only  seven  of  the  biggest  and 
strongest  remained  to  beat  the  old  "  six-eights"  and 
"  two-fours"  when  the  regiment  marched  for  Manassas. 
There  had  come  a  letter  from  Shorty  to  Billy  Archer 
with  an  enclosure  to  Snipe,  but  Snipe  and  his  regiment 
disappeared  the  night  before,  and  Archer  didn't  know 
enough  to  have  it  forwarded.  He  thought  they  would 
meet  again  within  a  day  or  two,  when,  in  point  of  fact, 
they  did  not  meet  at  all.  Shorty's  old  regiment  was 
assigned  to  a  brigade  on  the  north  side  of  the  Potomac, 
and  Snipe's  new-comers  were  marched  over  the  Long 
Bridge  to  the  sacred  soil  of  Virginia  and  brigaded  with 
troops  from  three  different   States,  and  there,  as  the 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD,  193 

grave,  big  Captain  Stark  had  said,  the  representative  of 
the  First  Latin  spent  hours  at  his  commander's  tent, 
studying  tactics  and  regulations  and  a  little  book  called 
"Mahan's  Outposts,"  when  Stark  wasn't  using  them, 
and  twice  it  had  happened  that  when  the  New  England 
regiment  was  called  upon  to  furnish  the  details  for  grand 
guard  and  picket,  the  tall,  slender,  brown-eyed  boy  in 
Company  "  C"  was  able  to  tell  corporals  and  sergeants 
things  about  their  duties  they  never  had  dreamed  of. 
So,  too,  on  battalion  drill.  Snipe,  who  used  to  hate  such 
things,  and  even  now  bent  under  the  weight  of  his  long 
musket,  had  a  more  intelligent  idea  of  the  purpose  of 
each  formation  and  movement  than  most  of  the  file- 
closers,  some  lieutenants  not  excepted.  Before  they 
had  been  a  month  in  Virginia  Captain  Stark  had  taken 
a  strong  fancy  to  the  youngster,  and  was  seriously  think- 
ing of  decorating  his  arms  with  chevrons  when  the  order 
for  the  advance  and  Stark's  promotion  came  together. 
The  lieutenant-colonel,  finding  that  his  health  could  not 
stand  the  climate  and  exposure,  had  resigned  and  gone 
home,  and  just  the  very  morning  after  the  incident  de- 
scribed in  the  last  chapter  a  batch  of  new  commissions 
reached  the  New-Englanders.  Stark  became  major,  vice 
Proctor,  promoted  lieutenant-colonel,  and  turned  his 
company  over  to  its  new  captain,  the  former  first  lieu- 
tenant. Stark's  first  act,  after  taking  the  oath  and  sign- 
ing his  acceptance,  was  to  send  for  Lawton.  The  regi- 
ment, with   much  glee   and  excitement,  was  packing 

13 


194  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

knapsacks  for  the  move,  and  the  lad  came,  pale  and 
troubled. 

"Are  you  ill,  Lawton?"  demanded  Major  Stark. 

"  No,  sir.     I  just — got  some  bad  news." 

"  Folks  ill  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  it's  something  a  sergeant  in  the  Fire  Zou- 
aves told  me." 

"You  don't  wish  to  go  home,  do  you?" 

"  I  do,  sir ;  but  I  won't.  I'm  going  with  the  com- 
pany." 

"  Lavirton,"  said  the  major,  after  a  moment's  scrutiny 
of  the  lad's  solemn  face,  "  you've  never  told  me  where 
you  live  and  I've  never  asked.  I  believed  in  you,  and 
that's  enough.  The  colonel  has  given  me  permission  to 
choose  my  orderly  from  my  old  company.  I  have 
bought  Colonel  Poague's  horses.  The  orderly  will  ride 
my  spare  horse  and  look  after  both.  I  want  you,  if  you 
care  to  take  the  place." 

"Yes,  sir;  I  do." 

"  It  leaves  you  out  of  the  race  for  vacancies  among  the 
corporals." 

"  No  matter,  sir.  That'll  come  when  we  reorganize 
for  three  years." 

And  so  Snipe  turned  his  long  musket  and  heavy  car- 
tridge-box over  to  the  first  sergeant,  dumped  his  knap- 
sack and  blanket  into  the  field-officer's  wagon,  and 
straddled  the  major's  spare  horse.  At  any  other  time 
he  might  have  felt  the  sense  of  exaltation  that  is  inevi- 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  I95 

table  to  the  boy  or  man  who  knows  how  to  ride,  but 
the  young  soldier's  spirits  were  dashed  and  drooping. 
There  was  no  time  for  brooding,  however.  The  New- 
Englanders  were  on  the  march  for  Manassas.  The  dusty 
roads  were  thronged  with  troops,  trudging  buoyantly 
ahead,  confident  in  the  strength  of  their  numbers  and 
counting  upon  a  conqueror's  entrance  into  Richmond 
within  ten  days.  Somewhere  about  noon,  midway  be- 
tween Fairfax  and  Centreville,  the  "  route  march"  was 
suddenly  changed  to  silence  and  to  cadence  step.  A 
staff-officer  had  accosted  the  colonel.  The  commands 
"  halt"  and  "  front"  brought  them  into  line  facing  the 
left ;  then  the  regiment  was  dressed  back  to  the  right 
until  it  stood  aligned  at  the  roadside,  and  Snipe  found 
himself  seated  in  saddle  just  to  the  left  rear  of  his  major, 
who  had  reined  up  at  the  left  of  the  line.  Looking  back 
along  the  dust-covered  route,  the  lad  could  see  that  the 
regiments  following  them  in  column  were  also  halting 
and  "  fronting,"  as  soon  as  closed  to  proper  distance, 
and  then,  with  ordered  arms,  standing  at  ease  and  won- 
dering what  was  coming.  Presently,  far  back  towards 
Fairfax,  there  uprose  a  cheer  that  was  taken  up  along 
the  line,  and  Lawton  and  his  major,  craning  their  necks, 
could  see  a  body  of  horsemen  coming  through  the  slowly 
settling  dust-clouds,  following  the  lead  of  a  soldierly- 
looking  man  on  a  big  gray.  A  band  struck  up  "  Hail 
Columbia ;"  the  regiment  directly  to  their  left  began  to 
take  up  the  shout  of  acclaim,  beginning  away  down  at 


196  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  tenth  company,  and  the  handsome  horseman  raised 
his  forage-cap  and  spurred  rapidly  on.  Again  he  raised 
it  as  he  passed  the  colors,  and  the  shout  of  greeting 
rolled  into  the  right  wing ;  and  now  the  New  England 
lads  could  see  the  yellow  sash  and  the  gold-embroidered 
belt,  and  knew  a  general  officer  was  coming,  and  they, 
too,  prepared  to  relieve  their  dusty  lungs  and  overflow- 
ing spirits  with  a  cheer.  But  all  on  a  sudden  the  old 
colonel's  shrill  voice  was  heard,  "  Attentio-o-on  bat- 
talion !"  and  talk  and  laughter  ceased.  "  Shoulder-r-r 
hompsP''  and  every  musket  jumped  from  the  ground. 
"  Prese-e-e-nt  hompsr  and  nine  hundred  ghstening 
barrels  bounced  out  in  front  of  nine  hundred  martial 
noses.  The  silken  colors,  State  and  National,  drooped 
forward  in  homage  to  the  coming  dignitary.  The  major 
sat  bolt  upright  and  looking  straight  over  his  horse's 
ears,  his  sword  lowered  to  the  salute,  and  Snipe's 
hand  went  up  to  the  visor  of  his  grimy  cap,  and  the 
major-general  smiled  affably  as  he  came  trotting  by,  his 
horse  shying  sidewise  with  eyes  and  ears  attent,  and 
the  grizzled  colonel  got  a  word  of  soldierly  praise  from 
the  cap-tipping  commander  as  he  sped  swiftly  on,  the 
staff  trying  hard  to  look  dignified  and  keep  their  seats 
and  distance  at  the  same  time,  which  several  of  them, 
being  new  to  the  business,  found  it  hard  to  do.  Behind 
them  jogged  a  troop  of  regular  cavalry, — the  general's 
escort, — veterans  who  had  spent  years  in  saddle  and 
showed  it ;  and  then  with  gratified  pride  that  he  and  his 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  ^gy 

regiment  had  given  proper  and  soldierly  recognition  to 
the  chief,  "  instead  of  yelling  like  a  town-meeting,"  said 
the  colonel,  that  veteran  of  the  Mexican  war  days  per- 
mitted his  men  once  more  to  "  order"  and  rest  and 
await  developments.  They  were  not  long  in  coming. 
Away  down  to  the  left,  over  the  shouts  and  greetings  of 
other  commands,  could  be  heard  the  characteristic 
"Hi!  hi!  hi!"  of  the  Fire  Zouaves,  and  presently  in 
long  column  of  pieces,  cannoneers  mounted,  two  busi- 
ness-like batteries  of  the  regulars  came  clinking  along, 
their  powerful,  mettlesome  horses  moving  like  so  much 
perfect  machinery  at  steady  walk,  their  drivers  respond- 
ing to  the  chaff  and  cheers  and  comments  of  the  militia 
and  volunteers  by  occasional  droll  wink  or  thrust  of 
tongue  into  the  nearest  cheek,  their  nimble  gun  detach- 
ments grinning  exuberantly,  but  rarely  uttering  a  word. 
And  then  at  last,  when  even  their  baggage-wagons  had 
trundled  by,  a  band  was  heard  along  the  thoroughfare 
behind  them,  and  through  the  dust  came  stalking  a  su- 
perb drum-major,  his  baton  swinging  in  one  hand,  his 
huge  bear-skin  shako  dangling  from  the  other  arm  ;  and 
then  the  halted  column  coughed  and  sneezed  as  a 
strong  regiment  of  infantry  marched  silently  by  in  col- 
umn of  fours,  determined,  evidently,  to  impress  upon 
the  rest  of  the  division  their  martial  appearance  and 
discipline.  And  then,  in  vivid  contrast,  right  behind 
them,  came  the  loose  gray  jackets  and  trousers,  the  red 
shirts  and  faces  of  the  Fire  Zouaves,  grinning,  chaffing, 


198  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  hi,  hiing"  every  foot  of  the  way,  and  Major  Stark 
turned  and  signalled  to  his  orderly,  and  the  lad  rode  up 
alongside. 

"  These  are  your  old  friends,  I  take  it,  Lawton.  Sit 
here  where  you  can  see  them." 

The  colors  went  sweeping  by,  flaunting  in  the  sunshine 
despite  the  besmirching  dust,  and  the  seventh  company 
came  swinging  along,  and  all  of  a  sudden  a  wiry-look- 
ing sergeant  file-closer  glanced  up  and  shouted,  "  Hullo, 
Snipey  !  How  are  you  f  after  the  Bowery  fashion  of  the 
day.  "  Hullo,  Snipey  !"  came  the  greeting  from  half  a 
dozen  brawny  throats.  "  Say,  sonny,  did  you  git  square 
with  that  Metamora  gang  before  you  come  away?" 
"  Hullo,  Snipe  !  Where's  Shorty  all  dis  time  ?"  "  Say, 
boy,  what  deestrick  d'you  run  to  now  ?"  And  before 
anybody  could  say  a  word  to  prevent  it,  half  a  dozen 
laughing,  rollicking  fellows  sprang  from  the  ranks  and 
were  crowding  about  Lawton  as  he  sat  blushing,  half 
pleased,  half  ashamed,  and  shaking  the  lad  by  the 
hand.  "  Come  over  and  see  us  when  we  git  to  camp," 
they  cried  in  chorus,  as,  clamping  their  heavy  sword- 
bayonets  to  their  sides  with  the  left  hand,  and  trail- 
ing the  brown  barrels  of  their  "  special"  rifles,  they 
hurried  on  to  catch  their  company.  It  was  all  over  in 
a  minute,  but  the  New-Englanders  looked  curiously  at 
the  major's  orderly,  and  that  quiet-mannered,  taciturn 
officer  finally  turned,  with  something  like  a  smile. 

"  One   would  hardly  say  those  fellows   could   have 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  I99 

brought  you  ill  news,  Lawton.  They  seem  like  old 
friends," 

"I  knew  them  well  when  at  school  in  New  York,  sir." 

"Who  is  Shorty?" 

"  He  was  my  chum,  sir.  I  thought  he'd  be  here  long 
ago.  He  was  a  drummer  in  the  Seventy-first  New  York. 
His  relatives  wouldn't  let  him  come,  I  suppose." 

"  Would  yours,  do  you  think, — if  they  knew  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  But  my  father's  been  dead  a  long  time. 
My  mother  married  again,  and — I've  been  shifting  for 
myself  of  late." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  major,  inclining  his  head ; 
"  but  does  your  mother  know  now  ?" 

"  I  write  to  her  every  month,  sir.  She  knows  I'm 
with  the  army.  They  would  get  me  out  if  they  knew 
where  to  find  me,  but  I  should  enlist  in  another  regi- 
ment under  another  name,  so  what  would  be  the  use  ?" 

And  then  once  more  came  the  command  attention. 
Again  the  dusty  march  was  resumed.  Again  the  col- 
umn alternately  tramped  and  halted.  Other  generals 
and  staff-officers  rode  to  and  fro,  and  were  curiously 
inspected  by  the  rank  and  file.  Again  the  New-Eng- 
landers  were  led  off  into  an  open  field  some  distance 
from  the  pike,  and,  late  in  the  afternoon,  stacked  arms 
and  unslung  knapsacks  in  a  skirt  of  woods.  Pots,  ket- 
tles, and  canteens  were  filled  from  the  cisterns  and  wells 
of  the  neighboring  farm-house,  whose  inmates  looked 
on  in  silent  disapproval,  and  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking 


200  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

toward  a  distant  line  of  heights  some  twenty  miles  away 
to  the  west,  that  a  school-master  in  the  color  company 
said  were  called  the  BuU  Run  Mountains,  somebody  held 
up  a  warning  hand  and  said  "  Listen  !"  There  was  a 
throb  and  pulsation  in  the  heavy,  heated,  breathless  air. 
A  dull  booming  sound  at  irregular  intervals  came  float- 
ing from  the  distant  front.  Men  sprang  to  their  feet 
from  under  the  trees  and  listened  eagerly,  their  faces 
paling  a  little ;  some  lips  uncontrollably  twitching.  It 
was  the  first  note  of  the  grand  overture  so  soon  to  burst 
in  the  magnificence  of  its  volume  on  their  unaccustomed 
ears.  Somewhere  out  toward  that  winding  fringe  of 
timber  in  the  low  ground  five  miles  away  to  the  south 
a  field  battery  had  sighted  the  enemy  in  sufficient  force 
to  warrant  unlimbering  and  letting  drive.  The  hostile 
armies  were  within  striking  distance. 

For  a  moment  the  men  from  the  land  of  the  Puritan 
listened  in  awed  silence.  There  had  been  a  sharp  en- 
counter down  that  way  two  days  before  between  the 
leading  division  and  a  concealed  enemy,  and  rumor  had 
it  that  many  were  killed  and  wounded,  but  the  ambu- 
lances had  been  sent  another  way,  and  this  brigade  saw 
none  of  them.  Over  toward  the  roofs  of  Centreville 
a  Western  regiment  sent  up  a  cheer.  Somewhere 
through  the  woods,  down  toward  the  right,  the  uproar- 
ious "  Hi,  hi"  of  the  Zouaves,  like  the  yelp  of  a  pack  of 
prairie  wolves,  rose  swift  from  wing  to  wing,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  distant  clamor  the  major's  quiet  voice  fell 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 


201 


on  Snipe's  listening  ears,  and  the  lad  started,  gulped 
down  some  strange  feeling  as  of  faintness  and  nausea 
that  had  stolen  over  him,  and  pulled  himself  together. 

"  The  horses  ?  Yes,  sir,  they'll  be  through  feeding  in 
ten  minutes," 

"  Very  well.  I'm  to  go  forward  with  four  companies 
at  dusk.  You  needn't,  if  you  wish  to  write — or  any- 
thing." 

But  when  the  major  led  that  silent  detachment  into 
the  winding  bridle-path  through  the  trees,  following  the 
lead  of  a  young  staff-officer  who  rode  jauntily  ahead, 
Snipe  Lawton  followed  close  at  his  commander's  heels. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


In  more  than  a  dozen  regiments  of  raw  soldiery  camp- 
ing in  the  fields  about  Centreville  that  hot  July  evening 
were  lads  no  older  than  George  Lawton.  Among  the 
seasoned  regulars,  few  as  they  were,  serving  either  as 
fifers  or  drummers  in  the  infantry  and  marines,  buglers 
in  the  batteries  or  trumpeters  in  the  cavalry,  were  some 
who  were  even  younger, — boys  born  in  the  army  far 
out  on  the  frontier,  perhaps,  or  at  the  few  garrisoned 
forts  on  the  Atlantic  coast, — sons  of  soldiers  who  knew 
no  other  hfe  and  who  would  have  felt  awkward  in  any 
dress  but  the  uniform.  But  there  were  few  who  did 
not  at  first  feel,  as  Snipe  felt,  a  nervous  tremor  about 
the  knees  at  sound  of  those  swift  banging  guns.  Vet- 
eran soldiers  soon  learn  that  cannon  may  boom  all  day 
and  little  damage  be  done,  and  that  the  real  sound  that 
tells  of  deadly  battle  is  the  sustained  crackle  and  crash  of 
musketry.  All  through  the  excited  army  the  news  had 
gone  that  there  had  been  a  "  meeting"  Thursday  down 

202 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  203 

at  Blackburn's  Ford  to  the  left  front,  "  a  reconnoissance 
in  force,"  a  staff-officer  described  it  to  silent,  serious 
Major  Stark,  "  merely  to  develop  the  enemy."  But 
that  reconnoissance  had  developed  something  else, — the 
fact  that  some  of  the  raw  regiments,  bursting  with  eager- 
ness to  march  to  Richmond  ten  days  earlier,  couldn't 
stand  fire  to-day,  for  the  moment  the  screaming  shells 
from  the  Confederate  guns  on  the  southern  bank  of  Bull 
Run  came  crashing  through  the  timber  on  the  north 
side,  a  new  volunteer  command,  shoved  in  there  to  sup- 
port a  battery,  scurried  out  of  it  in  most  undignified 
haste.  Others,  no  older  in  service,  but  better  led,  stood 
their  ground  like  men,  despite  their  pale,  anxious  faces, 
and  roundly  jeered  the  "  salt-workers."  One  thing  was 
settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  General  McDowell,  com- 
manding the  Union  force,  and  that  was  that  the  routes 
to  Manassas  Junction,  either  by  way  of  the  Stone  Bridge 
straight  ahead  on  the  broad  pike,  or  more  directly  by 
the  several  fords  farther  down-stream,  were  vigilantly 
guarded,  so  that  "  the  longest  way  round"  would  prob- 
ably be  the  shortest  way  to  that  centre  of  rebel  activity. 
There  at  Manassas  the  railways  from  the  South  and 
from  the  Shenandoah  joined.  There  were  the  stores 
and  supplies.  There  was  the  strategic  point,  and  scat- 
tered along  the  wooded  bluffs  that  hemmed  the  stream 
on  the  southern  side,  all  along  for  nearly  eight  miles 
were  stationed  the  Southern  brigades.  With  Manassas 
at  their  backs  five  miles  away,  with  Bull  Run  directly 


204  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

in  their  front,  with  only  one  broad  road  and  four  or  five 
bridle-paths  or  wagon-tracks  leading  down  to  it,  the 
Southern  general  felt  well  assured  in  his  position  and 
equally  confident  of  his  men. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Union  leader  was  schooled  in 
strategy  and  grand  tactics  and  quick  to  see  his  oppor- 
tunities. Bull  Run  was  as  "  crooked  as  a  ram's  horn,'' 
said  the  staff- officers  sent  forward  to  reconnoitre,  but  its 
general  course  below  the  Stone  Bridge  was  southeast- 
ward, despite  its  deep  bends  and  twists,  while  above  the 
bridge,  within  four  miles  or  so,  from  the  neighborhood 
of  Sudley  Springs,  it  had  three  sharp  elbow^s,  and  flowed 
alternately  east  and  south.  Below  the  bridge  the  woods 
were  thick  on  both  banks ;  above  it,  toward  Sudley 
Church,  were  many  open  fields  and  patches.  All  Fri- 
day and  Saturday  the  Union  troops  were  closing  up  on 
Centreville,  bringing  with  them,  worse  luck,  a  gang  of 
curious  spectators  in  carriages  and  buggies, — people 
coming  out  the  twenty-five  miles  from  Washington  as 
though  to  a  picnic, — and  all  this  motley  crowd  was 
scattered  through  the  fields  and  orchards  and  shady 
groves  and  swarming  through  the  farm  enclosures  about 
the  once  placid,  sleepy  little  Virginia  village  this  still 
Saturday  afternoon  that  preceded  the  momentous  Sun- 
day of  the  first  real  battle  of  the  civil  war. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  by  the  major's  watch  as  the  rear 
of  his  silent  column  swung  clear  of  the  bivouac  where 
comrade  soldiers  stood  and  longed  to  cheer  them  off. 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  205 

but  for  the  caution  of  their  officers  passed  company  by 
company  down  the  hne  of  stacked  rifles.  There  had 
been  a  brief  conference  between  the  gray-haired,  shrill- 
voiced  colonel  and  his  junior  field-officer.  The  latter 
had  received  his  orders  direct  from  the  commanding 
general.  That  accomplished  soldier  had  keenly  looked 
the  major  over,  and,  as  the  latter  remounted  and  rode 
silently  away,  had  turned  to  his  adjutant-general  with 
the  comprehensive  remark,  "  He'll  do  !"  And  now,  as 
the  twilight  deepened  and  the  stars  began  to  twinkle  in 
the  eastern  skies,  through  a  winding  wood-path  the 
column  moved,  snake-like,  swiftly,  confidently,  yet  noise- 
lessly, on.  There  was  barely  a  farm-wagon  track  along 
the  springy  turf.  Each  man  carried  his  knapsack, 
blanket,  and  his  forty  rounds.  Light  marching  order 
would  have  been  welcome  after  the  heat  and  heavy 
burdens  of  the  past  few  days.  Route  step  was  the 
command  when  clear  of  the  sentry  lines,  but  silence 
the  caution.  Quarter  of  a  mile  out,  and  in  a  little 
grove,  the  leaders  came  upon  a  company  of  infantry 
clustered  about  their  stacked  rifles.  The  wood  road 
forked  here,  one  branch  going  straight  on  north,  the 
other  bearing  farther  to  the  west.  A  word  from  the 
young  lieutenant  of  regulars,  riding  side  by  side  with 
Major  Stark,  and  the  commander  of  the  picket  reserves 
stood  back,  and,  without  a  moment's  pause,  the  bat- 
talion swung  steadily  on,  taking  the  right-hand  path.  A 
few  hundred  yards  and  there  was  momentary  check.    A 


206  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

subaltern  officer  and  some  twenty  or  thirty  soldiers  stood 
under  arms  at  a  bend  in  the  path,  and  now  the  light  was 
so  dim  that  the  stars  directly  overhead  were  beginning- 
to  peep  down  at  the  drowsing  world  beneath.  The  two 
lieutenants,  the  professional  of  the  staff,  the  volunteer 
of  the  infantry,  held  brief  parley,  while  Major  Stark 
looked  back  toward  his  coming  battalion,  signalled  to 
the  foremost  captain  marching  sturdily  by  the  side  of 
his  first  sergeant,  and  that  officer  stepped  out  a  yard  or 
two,  faced  back  toward  the  long  column,  and,  first 
waving  his  sword  aloft  to  attract  attention,  took  it  in 
both  hands,  the  left  near  the  point,  held  it  horizontally 
over  his  head  an  instant,  and  then  suddenly  lowered  it ; 
whereat,  without  a  sound,  all  who  saw  as  quickly  halted 
short,  softly  placing  the  shod  butts  of  the  rifles  on  the 
ground,  and  all  others  almost  instantly  followed  the  ex- 
ample. It  was  part  of  a  silent  drill  the  New-Englanders 
had  been  taught  for  just  such  emergencies. 

With  beating  heart  Snipe  hstened  to  the  low-toned 
colloquy.  The  lieutenant  of  the  picket-guard,  a  trifle 
excitedly,  was  dictating  some  report  just  received  from 
the  outposts. 

"  No,  I  didn't  see  'em  myself,"  he  replied,  in  answer 
to  question,  "  but  Sergeant  Holman  says  he  couldn't  be 
mistaken.  The  outermost  sentries,  three  of  them,  all 
say  the  same.  There  were  at  least  twenty-five  horse- 
men. They  forded  the  Run  right  down  here  to  the 
southwest  of  us,  and  rode  northward  so  as  to  cross  this 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  207 

slanting  path,  if  they  kept  on  in  the  same  direction,  just 
about  a  mile  from  here.  Holman's  with  the  outposts 
now,  sir," 

The  staff-officer  turned  to  Major  Stark.  "  They  may 
have  been  sent  to  destroy  the  very  bridge  we  are  ordered 
to  guard,"  said  he,  in  low  tone.  "It  isn't  two  miles 
ahead." 

"  Then  the  sooner  we  get  there  the  better,"  was  the 
prompt  answer,  and,  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  the 
major  signalled  again,  his  right  hand  high  in  air  at  first, 
then  pointing  to  the  front,  but  in  the  gathering  darkness 
the  gesture  was  not  fully  understood.  "Ride  back, 
Lawton,  and  tell  Captain  Flint  to  follow  with  the  bat- 
talion," and  the  two  mounted  officers  rode  rapidly 
ahead,  and  in  a  moment  were  lost  to  sight  among  the 
shadowy  trees. 

It  was  Snipe's  first  mission  as  an  orderly,  and  well  he 
remembered  it.  Whirling  his  horse  about,  he  trotted 
back  to  where  the  head  of  the  column  stood  silently 
with  ordered  arms,  the  men  leaning  on  their  muskets. 
"Major  Stark  says  to  follow  with  the  battalion,  sir,"  he 
promptly  announced  to  the  alert  captain,  using  as  nearly 
as  possible,  as  he  had  read  was  the  duty  of  staff-officers 
and  messengers,  the  exact  words  of  the  commander ; 
and  then,  seeing  the  column  instantly  obeying,  he  again 
turned,  rode  sharply  past  the  silent  picket-post,  and, 
straining  his  eyes  for  a  sight  of  his  major,  while  thread- 
ing the  dim  vista  of  the  wood  path,  he  soon  overtook 


208  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  two  again,  halted  once  more  and  in  earnest  converse 
with  a  bearded,  sturdy-looking  sergeant,  who,  with  a 
little  squad  of  dark-uniformed  infantry,  formed  the  out- 
post. 

"  The  sentinels  are  not  a  hundred  yards  beyond  us," 
he  heard  him  say.  "  All  three  saw  them.  The  ground 
slopes  gradually  to  the  south  and  west.  It's  quite  open. 
They  crossed  the  Run  down  yonder,  and  rode  straight 
away  northward,"  and  the  sergeant  pointed  to  a  distant 
ridge.  "  None  of  'em  came  within  range.  They  didn't 
seem  to  think  anybody  would  be  out  here  at  all." 

The  staff-officer  sat  listening  quietly  and  attentively 
until  the  sergeant  finished.  Then  he  turned  to  the  ma- 
jor. "  I  chose  this  ground  myself,"  he  said.  "  The 
sentries  are  hidden  by  bushes  from  the  front,  and  have 
a  clear  view  for  nearly  a  mile,  by  day  at  least,  and  look- 
ing back  you  could  see  the  roofs  of  Centreville  on  the  high 
ground  to  the  east.  I  reconnoitred  all  through  here  yes- 
terday and  came  across  that  bridge  about  three  o'clock. 
There's  a  deep  wide  ditch,  marshy  in  places,  wet  and 
miry  everywhere  for  a  mile  either  way,  and  the  banks 
are  steep.  Foot  troops  and  cavalry  can  cross  all  right, 
but  we've  got  to  keep  that  bridge  for  the  guns,  especially 
that  big  thirty-pound  Parrott  General  Hunter's  to  bring 
along.  I  wish  we'd  been  sent  out  earlier,  though  of 
course  we  might  have  been  seen  crossing  the  open  fields. 
Look !"  and  Lieutenant  Upton  led  a  few  paces  to  the 
edge  of  the  scattered  trees,  and  there  the  whole  west- 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  209 

ward  firmament  was  visible,  even  down  to  the  black 
lines  of  the  Bull  Run  Mountains,  just  setting  its  own 
"  sentinel  stars"  for  the  long  night-watch. 

"  I  wish  so,  too,"  said  the  major.  "  Lawton,  ride  back 
and  guide  the  column.     It  may  lose  the  way." 

Again  the  lad  turned  and  trotted  away,  but  before  he 
had  gone  a  hundred  yards  he  could  see  the  faint  gleam 
of  steel  come  dancing  through  the  glade,  and  almost 
instantly  there  followed  the  stern,  sharp,  low-voiced 
challenge.  "  It's  Lawton,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  The 
major  feared  you  might  lose  the  way,  and  told  me  to 
guide  you." 

The  men  were  panting  a  little  now,  for  Flint  was 
forcing  the  pace.  Something  told  them  there  was  work 
ahead.  "Know  what's  up,  orderly?"  muttered  the 
captain. 

"  No,  sir.  The  pickets  say  some  rebel  cavalry  crossed 
the  front  just  before  dark,  somewhere  about  two  dozen 
of  'em."  And  as  Snipe  now  rode  along,  with  over  three 
hundred  stalwart  fellows  trudging  at  his  back,  despite 
all  the  excitement  of  the  moment  his  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  school-days  and  the  First  Latin,  and  he  won- 
•  dered  what  the  fellows  would  think  to  see  him  now, 
guiding  a  whole  battalion  to  its  post  of  duty,  perhaps  to 
its  place  in  battle.  He  wondered  with  clinching  teeth 
and  quickening  breath  who  could  have  made  those  fel- 
lows he  had  so  sworn  by  believe  that  he,  Snipe  Lawton, 
was  a  common  thief.     Was  that  the  reason  Shorty  never 

14 


210  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

wrote  again?  Was  that  why  no  one  now  seemed  to 
care  where  he  was  or  what  had  become  of  him  ?  The 
boy's  wounded  heart  beat  vehemently  in  protest  and  in 
indignation,  and  there  in  the  darkness  of  that  'cross 
country  wood  path  his  hps  murmured  a  prayer  for 
guidance  and  protection,  that  he  might  Uve  to  give  the 
lie  to  that  slander, — might  so  Hve  as  to  win  honor  and 
credit  for  the  name  his  enemies  had  besmirched.  Two 
nights  before,  following  his  major  through  a  dark  lane 
when  visiting  sentries,  the  boy's  heart  had  bounded  un- 
controllably, and  his  knees  had  trembled  so  hard  that 
his  horse,  too,  seemed  to  shake,  all  because  a  nervous 
raw  recruit  had  fancied  he  saw  a  rebel  stealing  on  him 
through  the  blackness  of  the  night,  and  after  vainly 
challenging  a  wandering  mule,  had  roused  the  whole 
division  and  nearly  killed  his  major  with  a  single  wildly 
aimed  shot.  To-night  as  Snipe  thought  of  the  story  he 
had  wrung  from  the  unwilling  lips  of  Sergeant  Keating, 
of  the  Fire  Zouaves,  one  of  40's  old  "  bunkers,"  the 
sense  of  pride  and  indignation  bore  down  all  thought 
of  fear,  and  Snipe  Lawton,  who  the  year  before  hated 
drill  and  wouldn't  be  a  soldier  for  anything,  even  now 
in  the  dark,  where  Napoleon  himself  had  said  most  men 
were  cowards,  was  praying  that  the  rebels  might  be 
there  at  the  bridge,  and  that  he  might  be  foremost  in  the 
dash  upon  them. 

On  past  the  peering,  shadowy  knots  of  soldiers  of  Ser- 
geant Holman's  party  he  led  them,  the  hard-breathing. 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  211 

swift-striding  Yankees  swinging  along  behind.  Out 
over  the  starlit  open  to  where,  well  across  the  field, 
he  could  dimly  descry  the  forms  of  two  horsemen. 
"  Well  done,  orderly,"  muttered  the  regular.  "  You've 
lost  not  a  second.  Now,  major,  we'll  push  ahead.  Bet- 
ter caution  them  not  to  make  a  sound." 

"  They  won't,"  said  Stark,  in  answer,  and  resumed 
the  northward  way.  Five  minutes  and  they  were  skirt- 
ing an  old  snake-fence,  well  out  beyond  the  hail  of  the 
last  sentry  or  vedette  of  the  Union  lines.  Any  moment 
now  they  might  meet  scouting  parties  of  the  rebel  horse, 
and  here  Lieutenant  Upton  warned  the  major  to  keep 
with  his  command,  while  he  himself,  bending  low  on  his 
horse's  neck,  pushed  out  ahead.  Ten  minutes  more 
they  went  without  halt  of  any  kind,  but  now  Stark 
noted  how  hard  the  men  were  breathing,  and  ordered 
Flint  to  take  it  easy.  "  Soldiers  need  their  wind  if  it 
comes  to  fighting,"  said  he.  Fifteen  minutes,  and  there 
was  a  long  fringe  of  timber  ahead,  and  farther  off  to  the 
north  a  light  was  shining,  like  a  candle,  in  a  farm-house 
window,  but  still  the  dim  cart-track  led  on,  and  the 
young  staff-officer  kept  out  ahead.  Little  by  little  they 
drew  closer  to  the  trees,  and  eyes  and  ears  were  strained 
for  sight  or  sound.  The  major,  too,  was  bending  low 
by  this  time,  and  eagerly,  anxiously,  scanning  the 
shadowy  line  ahead.  Presently  he  drew  rein  and  mut- 
tered a  call  to  Snipe,  and  the  lad  spurred  up  alongside. 
Both  horses  were  pricking  up  their  ears.     "  This  horse 


212  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

acts  as  though  there  were  others  ahead  there,"  whis- 
pered Stark.  "  It  may  be  only  the  lieutenant's.  Here 
he  comes  now !" 

It  was  Lieutenant  Upton,  riding  cautiously  back. 
"  Major,"  he  muttered,  "  that  bridge  is  just  across  the 
next  field,  and  I  could  hear  voices  and  the  sound  of 
horses'  hoofs  on  the  planks.  If  it's  that  patrol,  we've 
got  'em.  We  can't  deploy  yet.  We  must  creep  through 
these  woods  and  deploy  beyond  them.  I  know  the 
ground." 

The  column  had  not  even  halted,  for  the  moment  the 
staff-officer  joined  the  leader  he  reined  about  and  rode 
on,  talking  eagerly  in  low  tone  as  he  rode,  then  once 
more  pushed  cautiously  ahead,  the  hoof-beats  hardly 
audible  on  the  springy  turf,  and  was  soon  lost  among 
the  trees.  Five  minutes  more  and  the  major  and  his 
faithful  orderly  emerged  again  under  the  open  starlight, 
and  there  they  found  their  alert  guide.  "  Let  them  halt 
in  the  timber  a  moment,"  whispered  Upton.  "  Look  at 
that  light."  And  while  the  head  of  column  abruptly 
ordered  arms,  and  each  succeeding  set  of  fours  almost 
bumped  up  against  that  which  preceded  it  before  it 
could  do  likewise,  the  aide-de-camp  pointed  southward. 

Upon  some  dark  height  full  three  miles  away  toward 
the  Junction,  and  evidently  some  distance  beyond  the 
stream,  a  bright  light,  as  of  a  lantern  with  brilliant  re- 
flector at  its  back,  was  shining  steadily.  "  There  was 
another  a  mile  to  the  north  of  us  as  we  crossed  the  last 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  213 

open  common,"  said  Stark.  "  Why,  look !  There  it  is 
again,  yet  it  was  dark  just  now." 

And  then,  suddenly  as  that  northern  light  appeared, 
it  was  extinguished  or  hidden.  Then,  before  any  one 
could  speak,  again  it  flamed.  Again  it  disappeared,  and 
the  explanation  occurred  to  all  three  at  the  same  in- 
stant. "  Signalhng,  of  course,"  muttered  Upton.  "  Now 
get  two  companies  into  line,  facing  west ;  then  we'll 
leave  our  horses  with  them  and  creep  out  toward  the 
bridge." 

Another  moment,  and  while  Flint  was  noiselessly 
leading  the  foremost  two  into  line,  the  major  and  the 
staff-officer  had  dismounted,  handed  their  reins  to  silent 
Snipe,  and  out  they  went,  crouching  low,  into  the  west- 
ward darkness,  while  every  man  breathed  hard  and 
listened.  Then  the  southern  light  began  to  flash  and 
disappear  alternately.  "  We  are  far  out  to  the  west  of 
Centreville,"  murmured  Flint.  "Those  windows  are 
hidden  from  that  point.  They  doubtless  think  no  one 
can  see  them  here." 

Five  minutes,  and  still  no  sound  came  from  their  ven- 
turesome scouts.  They  had  had  time  to  go  all  the  Avay 
across  if  need  be.  "  What  d'you  s'pose  they  signal  for  ?" 
whispered  a  young  soldier  in  the  leading  set,  whereupon 
the  sergeant  turned  and  muttered,  "  Hush !"  and  men 
began  to  realize  that  it  was  a  time  to  listen — not  to  talk. 

All  of  a  sudden,  low,  clear,  and  distinct,  a  whistle 
was  sounded  not  four  hundred  yards  away.     The  first 


214  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

thought  to  strike  every  man  was,  the  major !  but  the 
major  had  gone  straight  to  the  west ;  this  sound  came 
from  across  the  wide  field  well  to  the  northward  of  the 
supposed  position  of  the  bridge.  Before  there  was  time 
to  comment  the  answer  was  given  straight  out  ahead, 
soft,  yet  just  as  distinct.  Then  all  three  horses  left  with 
Snipe  pricked  up  their  ears  and  whirled  toward  the 
northwest,  for  from  that  quarter  came  the  sound  of 
hoof-beats,  the  low  thud  and  rumble  of  horses  moving 
at  lively  lope.  Swift,  invisible,  they  swooped  down  from 
the  northward  across  the  front.  Then  came  sudden 
check,  then  silence,  then  the  next  minute  the  hollow 
sound  of  iron-shod  hoofs  upon  resounding  boards. 
First  one  horse,  at  a  walk,  then  two,  three,  half  a  dozen 
together,  and  then  silence  again. 

Two  minutes  later,  back  from  the  front,  running,  came 
the  major.  "  Forward,  just  as  you  are  !"  he  muttered 
to  Flint.  "The  bridge  is  safe,"  and,  swinging  into  saddle 
and  bidding  Snipe  come  on  with  the  Heutenant's  horse, 
he  sped  swiftly  away  across  the  field.  At  its  western 
limit,  at  the  edge  of  a  deep,  black  trench  that  stretched 
away  southward  toward  Bull  Run,  they  found  the  staff- 
officer,  standing  at  the  old  wooden  bridge. 

"  They've  left  it  intact,"  murmured  Upton,  gleefully, 
"  and  they've  been  scouting  around  our  right  flank  for 
indication  of  any  attack  from  this  direction,  and  have 
missed  us  entirely.  Now  let  'em  come  back  and  get  it 
if  they  can !" 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  215 

In  ten  minutes  three  of  Stark's  strong  companies  had 
stacked  arms  among  the  timber  to  the  west  of  the  clumsy 
yet  precious  structure.  The  fourth  was  chosen  for 
guard  and  picket  duty,  and,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
energetic  young  staff-officer,  every  approach  was  cov- 
ered. Wary  sentries  were  stationed  five  hundred  yards 
away,  up  and  down  the  unsightly  trough  and  well  out 
toward  the  winding  run,  with  supports  and  small  re- 
serves intervening  between  them  and  the  main  body. 
Even  the  open  field  to  the  east  was  guarded,  for  Major 
Stark  meant  that  no  enemy  should  come  upon  him  un- 
awares. Finally,  deep  in  the  shelter  of  the  grove,  they 
struck  a  light  and  consulted  their  watches.  "  Just  half- 
past  nine,"  said  Upton,  "  and  at  midnight  the  move  be- 
gins. Now  ril  ride  back  and  report.  What  splendid 
luck  thus  far !" 

"You  have  no  orderly,  heutenant,"  said  Major  Stark. 
"  Let  Lawton  ride  back  with  you  until  you  reach  our 
lines.     I'd  be  better  satisfied." 

"  There  is  no  need,  thank  you,  major.  There  is  no 
likelihood  of  my  meeting  rebel  patrols  between  this  and 
our  pickets.  Those  fellows  are  back  across  Bull  Run 
by  this  time  and  riding  away  to  tell  Beauregard  the 
Yanks  have  no  idea  of  reaching  round  him  this  way." 

Snipe,  listening  in  silence,  hoped,  despite  the  brave 
resolution  of  the  earlier  evening,  that  nothing  would 
happen  to  change  the  lieutenant's  mind.  It  wasn't  the 
riding  back  with  him  that  he  dreaded  to  think  of,  it  was 


216  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  solitary  trot  to  rejoin  the  major  after  seeing  Upton 
safely  to  the  lines.  There  on  the  distant  heights  the 
lights  around  Centreville  were  twinkhng,  and,  even  while 
the  officers  were  consulting  a  moment  before,  the  lad 
noted  that  while  they  could  no  longer  see  the  gleam  on 
the  high  ground  south  of  the  Run,  the  men  were  again 
whispering  together  about  that  signal  to  the  north  of 
them. 

Then  the  staff-officer  held  out  his  hand.  "Good- 
night, Major  Stark.  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  telling  the 
general  how  prompt  and  soldierly  your  command  has 
been.  After  all  the  go-as-you-please  business  I  have 
had  to  note  on  the  march  it  is  good  to  see  a  regiment 
behave  like  regulars.  Good-night  to  you,  too,  my  lad. 
If  I  ever  get  a  regiment  I'd  like  to  have  a  hundred  young 
fellows  of  your  calibre,"  said  he,  and  to  Snipe's  surprise 
and  delight  Lieutenant  Upton  was  grasping  his  hand  too. 

But  just  as  tiie  young  officer  turned  away  a  thought 
occurred  to  him.  "  The  general  will  be  anxiously  await- 
ing my  report,  and  I  must  hurry.  If  it  weren't  for  that 
I'd  find  out  what's  going  on  where  that  light  is  up  yon- 
der. Good-night  again.  Look  for  us  along  about  two 
o'clock." 

The  muffled  sound  of  the  hoof-beats  died  away  across 
the  open  field.  The  men  close  at  hand  unrolled  their 
blankets  and  stretched  themselves  upon  the  turf.  No 
fires  were  allowed,  but  many  a  pipe  was  lighted  well 
within  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  and,  too  excited  to  sleep, 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  217 

they  lay  chatting  in  low  tones.  Several  of  the  officers 
grouping  about  had  heard  the  young  regular's  closing 
words.  "  That  light  can't  be  more'n  a  mile  off,"  said 
Captain  Flint.  "  I  would  like  to  know  what's  going  on 
there  myself." 

The  major  had  dismounted,  and  by  the  gleam  of  a 
little  folding  lantern  was  jotting  down  some  memoranda 
at  the  moment  in  the  note-book  he  always  carried. 
Method  was  second  nature  to  Stark.  Not  until  he  had 
finished  his  writing  did  he  reply.  Then,  even  while 
glancing  over  his  lines,  he  quietly  said, — 

"  You  shall.  Bring  twenty  men  and  come  along." 
Quarter  of  an  hour  later,  with  the  senior  captain  left 
in  command  at  the  bridge.  Major  Stark,  Lawton  as  ever 
riding  close  behind  him,  was  leading  slowly  and  cau- 
tiously out  of  the  shadows  and  across  an  open  field  that 
sloped  gradually  toward  a  low  ridge  against  the  north- 
ern sky.  Behind  them,  treading  softly,  came  Flint,  a 
lieutenant,  and  twenty  men.  The  latter  had  fixed  bay- 
onets and  discarded  anything  about  their  equipment 
that  would  rattle.  The  north  star  gleamed  right  over 
what  seemed  to  be  a  little  grove  along  the  ridge,  and  on 
the  edge  of  the  dark  patch  stood,  against  the  sky,  regular 
and  square  in  outline,  an  object  like  a  house.  Not  five 
minutes  back  a  light  was  shining  in  the  midst  of  it,  but 
now  that  was  gone.  Slowly,  cautiously,  the  little  party 
continued  its  silent  move,  rising  gradually  with  every 
rod,  and  at  last  the  leader  came  to  another  snake-fence, 


218  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  three  or  four  stout  fellows  sprang  forward  and  threw 
down  a  panel  or  two.  While  this  was  being  done  the 
major  looked  back,  and  there,  shining  over  the  low 
ground  from  the  distant  heights  beyond  Bull  Run,  that 
clear,  steady  light  was  gleaming  again,  powerful,  almost, 
as  the  head-light  of  a  locomotive.  Away  to  the  south- 
east, grouped  about  Centreville,  the  camp-fires  of  the 
Union  troops  were  blazing,  and  from  along  this  ridge 
their  position  was  plainly  visible.  No  wonder  Virginia 
sympathizers  chose  the  spot  from  which  to  signal !  Now 
what  message  might  they  not  be  sending  two  hours  later 
when  the  army  began  to  move  ?  It  was  after  ten  o'clock, 
and  that  house  had  been  dark  for  over  ten  minutes,  yet 
Stark  felt  confident  their  stealthy  approach  was  unsus- 
pected. Then  comes  the  stifled  cry,  "  Ha !  there  it  is 
again ! — the  light  in  the  upper  window,  well  under  the 
eaves !"  Snipe's  heart  bounds  almost  into  his  throat 
in  his  excitement,  for  now  it  is  barely  long  pistol-shot 
away,  and  he  is  the  proud  possessor  of  a  new  Colt's  re- 
volver, much  handier,  he  thinks,  than  the  long,  cum- 
brous musket.  And  now  it's  out  again ;  and  now,  five 
seconds  later,  shines  anew,  and  so  it  goes, — darkness 
alternating  with  light  three  times,  then  all  is  black  and 
unbroken.  A  sergeant  is  somewhe  reahead  looking  for 
the  next  fence.  The  little  party  scrambles  on  up  the 
steeper  slope.  If  only  there  are  no  dogs  about !  Hear 
them  baying  over  there  toward  Centreville?  and  over 
there    yonder  to    the   west   toward    Sudley   Church? 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  219 

Surely  if  there  are  dogs  here  they  would  be  out  and 
baying  their  reply.  Bigger  and  blacker  looms  the  house 
ahead,  and  still  no  challenge  from  dog  or  man.  Can  it 
be  that  the  farm  folk  have  deserted  it,  and  that  only 
lurking  scouts  or  spies  are  here  ? 

And  now  they  come  upon  a  dilapidated  picket-fence  ; 
beyond  it  a  row  of  bushes.  The  sergeant  in  advance 
turns  back  and  tells  the  major  there's  a  wide  open  gate- 
way at  the  east,  and  into  this  he  cautiously  rides,  Snipe 
still  following.  But,  oh,  how  the  boy  heart  is  thumping ! 
The  roadway  is  soft  Virginia  earth,  and  the  hoofs  strike 
no  pebbles.  Presently  the  major  dismounts,  and,  hand- 
ing his  reins  up  to  Snipe,  bids  him  wait  there  in  a  little 
open  space.  Then,  noiselessly,  he  and  Flint  lead  on 
with  the  men,  and  Snipe  feels,  rather  than  sees,  that 
they  are  surrounding  the  house  and  stationing  soldiers 
at  every  door  and  under  every  window.  All  these  now 
are  dark  save  two  on  the  lower  floor  in  front.  There 
are  thick  shades  within,  but  they  show  a  dull  light,  as 
from  a  table-lamp.  Not  a  sound  beyond  a  creaking  of 
a  shoe  or  plank  is  heard.  The  men  move  like  kittens, 
but  it  is  their  first  experience  of  the  kind,  and  most  of 
them  are  excited,  even  nervous.  As  for  Snipe,  he  rages 
to  see  how  he  is  trembling. 

And  then  all  of  a  sudden  the  major's  horse,  rejoicing 
that  the  weight  is  gone,  gives  himself  a  thorough  shake, 
rattling  housing  and  stirrups  and  accompanying  the 
shake  with  a  loud  b'r-r-r-r  of  satisfaction.    All  too  late 


220  FI^OM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

Snipe  springs  from  saddle  and  seizes  both  horses  by  the 
nostrils.  Almost  instantly  booted  heels  are  heard  within, 
and  manly,  ringing  voices.  Somebody  comes  striding 
to  the  door  and  throws  it  open.  A  tall,  slender,  shapely 
fellow  is  outlined  against  the  dim  light  within,  and  a 
voice  hails  cordially, — 

"  Hullo !  What  brings  you  back  ?  Anything  the 
matter  over  yawnduh?"  And  that  "  yawnduh"  betrays 
the  Virginian. 

"  Nothing,"  is  the  answer,  in  Stark's  quiet  tone.  "  But 
your  house  is  surrounded  by  the  troops  of  the  United 
States  and  Fll  trouble  you  to  come  out." 

For  answer,  out  goes  the  light  in  the  room,  slam  goes 
the  door,  and  then  there  is  dead  silence  just  about  five 
seconds.     Then  the  order,  "  Break  it  in  !" 

Up  the  low  steps  spring  a  sergeant  and  two  men. 
Crash  goes  the  door  before  their  heavy  rifle-butts,  and 
then,  bayonets  advanced,  in  they  go.  The  major,  follow- 
ing coolly,  strikes  a  light,  and  holds  aloft  his  little  lan- 
tern. The  candles  on  the  table  are  still  smoking,  and 
are  cpickly  again  ablaze.  "  Come  in  here,  three  or  four 
more  of  you,"  orders  Stark,  while  Flint  comes  hurrying 
round  to  the  front.  There  is  a  rush  of  feet  on  the  upper 
floor,  a  back  window  is  hurled  open.  "  Head  'em  off 
there !"  shouts  Flint,  as  again  he  runs  back.  There  is 
a  sound  of  sudden  scuffle,  and  some  stern  order  within. 
Then  Snipe  can  stand  it  no  longer  and  leads  his  excited 
horses  closer  to  the  house.     He  hears  the  rifle-butts  go 


Fir.st  capture  of  the  advancing  arms  of  the  Union. 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  221 

banging  at  the  doors  up-stairs  and  more  men  hurrying 
into  the  hall.  He  hears  Flint  repeat  the  cry,  "  Watch 
every  window !"  And  now  he  shifts  the  bight  of  both 
reins  into  the  left  hand  and  whips  out  his  revolver,  still 
towing  his  suspicious  and  reluctant  steeds,  and  just  as 
he  nears  the  front,  almost  at  his  feet,  the  doors  of  a  cel- 
larway,  hitherto  unseen  and  unsuspected,  fly  open.  Two 
dark  figures  burst  forth.  He  feels  again,  rather  than 
sees,  that  a  murderous  blow  is  aimed  at  his  head,  and 
even  as  he  ducks  out  of  the  way  a  revolver  flashes  and 
barks  just  at  his  ear,  and,  now  instinctively,  he  pulls 
trigger.  At  the  flash  and  bang  of  the  pistols  the  startled 
horses  both  jerk  back,  pulling  him  with  them.  One  rein 
is  torn  from  his  grasp,  but  the  captor  gains  nothing,  for 
before  he  can  reach  pommel  or  stirrup,  two  long-legged 
Yankees  are  on  him,  and  he  is  dragged  back  into  the  light. 
A  third  stumbles  over  a  prostrate  form  writhing  in  the 
road,  as  Snipe  quickly  finds  his  feet ;  and,  as  Major  Stark 
comes  striding  out  and  brings  his  lantern  to  bear  upon 
the  scene,  the  lad,  pale,  breathing  hard,  but  with  flash- 
ing eyes  and  that  revolver  grasped  in  his  clinching  hand, 
is  standing  over  his  stricken  prisoner, — first  capture  of 
the  advancing  arms  of  the  Union, — a  young  Confederate 
officer,  whose  brand-new  uniform  is  richly  laced  with 
gold,  but  whose  face  is  now  white  as  death  as  he  swoons 
away. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


War  was  a  new,  strange,  and  terrible  thing  to  George 
Lawton.  For  a  few  minutes  after  his  thrilling  adven- 
ture, while  the  soldiers  were  binding  with  bed-cords  the 
wrists  of  the  three  unscathed  captives,  and  Stark  and 
Flint  were  ministering  to  the  wounded  officer.  Snipe 
leaned  against  a  tree,  the  same  feeling  of  nausea  and 
faintness  overcoming  him  now  as  it  did  one  day  when 
he  saw  the  brutal  beating  of  an  Irish  wagoner  on  Fourth 
Avenue.  Others  of  the  New  England  men  were  search- 
ing the  premises  from  garret  to  cellar,  finding  no  human 
beings  but  two  trembling  old  negroes,  who  had  never 
been  allowed  to  regard  themselves  as  possessed  of  any 
rights  a  white  man  was  bound  to  respect.  The  pris- 
oners, sullen,  scowling,  and  very  much  amazed  that  such 
a  thing  could  happen  on  the  sacred  soil  of  Virginia,  re- 
fused to  answer  questions  as  to  the  owners  of  the  place. 
The  young  officer  was  only  just  recovering  from  the 
swoon  that  followed  upon  the  shock  of  his  wound,  but 

222 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  223 

the  darkies  humbly  told  all  they  knew.  They  were 
household  servants, — slaves,  of  course.  The  farm  was 
owned  by  a  wealthy  resident  of  Alexandria.  The  farmer 
and  his  family  had  gone.  The  young  officer  was  ''Marse 
Grayson,"  a  nephew  of  the  owner.  The  other  gentle- 
men belonged  to  his  troop  in  the  cavalry,  and  there 
were  four  more  of  them  somewhere  over  toward  Cen- 
treville.  They  had  been  round  there  for  several  days, 
and  signalling  to  their  comrades  over  where  "Marse 
Henry"  and  "Marse  Robinson"  lived,  on  the  heights 
beyond  Bull  Run.  Up  in  the  attic  the  New-Englanders 
found  candles,  a  polished  tin  reflector,  and  a  flat  board 
screen  that  just  fitted  in  the  window,  A  fine  telescope 
and  smaller  field-glass  were  also  there.  A  bountiful 
spread  was  on  the  table  in  the  dining-room.  The  larder 
and  cellar  were  well  stocked,  and  the  men  from  the  land 
of  steady  habits  did  not  disdain  to  "  sample"  the  fluid 
refreshment  found  in  the  cool  depths  below  the  house 
or  the  delicacies  in  the  pantry.  Out  in  a  wooden  shed 
were  four  fine  horses,  with  new  saddles  and  bridles. 
Opulence  was  the  rule  in  the  Confederacy  the  first  few 
months  of  the  war ;  and  now  the  sergeant  and  half  a 
dozen  men  moved  out  to  the  front  gate  to  look  for  those 
four  troopers  who  were  supposed  to  interpose  between 
their  feasting  comrades  and  the  possibility  of  surprise 
from  the  direction  of  the  Yankees,  and  who,  so  early  in 
the  war,  had  not  dreamed  of  foemen  coming  from  the 
south.     Possibly  they  had  heard  the  sound  of  shots  at 


224  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  farm-house  and  would  come  galloping  back  to  ascer- 
tain the  cause.  The  young  officer  was  reviving.  The 
flow  of  blood  was  stanched.  He  was  laid  upon  a  mat- 
tress and,  with  six  men  to  carry  him,  was  started  down 
the  slope  toward  the  main  body  at  the  bridge.  Stark 
then  ordered  the  party  to  bring  the  horses,  captives, 
arms, — everything  that  could  be  considered  legitimate 
spoil  of  war, — and  follow  at  once.  The  signal  outfit 
was  smashed,  and  Flint,  a  veteran  of  the  old  Covenanter 
type,  was  for  burning  the  house,  which  Stark  forbade, 
if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  would  instantly  bring 
patrols  of  Southern  cavalry  out  to  inquire  the  cause. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  problem  with  him  what  to  do  about  the 
signals.  Through  the  powerful  glass  he  was  able  to  see 
that  the  light  still  burned  on  the  distant  heights  to  the 
south,  and  at  any  moment  it  might  brightly  blaze  again, 
asking  some  question  and  demanding  reply.  "  Better 
let  them  waste  time  in  endeavors  to  extract  an  answer 
than  lose  none  in  galloping  over  to  investigate  a  fire," 
he  reasoned,  and  then  turned  to  where  his  young  orderly 
stood,  again  silently  holding  the  reins  of  the  horses. 

"  We  will  push  ahead,"  he  said,  as  he  mounted.  A 
few  minutes  of  search  and  they  found  the  gap  in  the 
rail-fence,  and  overtook  the  party  carrying  the  wounded 
Confederate.  His  youth  and  gentle  breeding  had  both 
impressed  the  taciturn  major,  and  now  the  fortitude 
which  enabled  him  without  a  moan  to  bear  the  pain  of 
this  swaying  motion  roused   the   major's   admiration. 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  225 

"  Gently,  men.  There's  no  hurry.  We'll  have  a  surgeon 
for  you  in  a  short  time,  lieutenant,"  he  said,  encour- 
agingly, then  spurred  on  to  rejoin  his  battahon  at  the 
bridge.  Sharp  and  clear  came  the  "  Halt !  Who  goes 
there?"  of  the  northernmost  sentry,  and  Stark  reined 
back  instantly  as  he  answered,  "  Friends, — Major  Stark 
and  orderly."  "Dismount,  both,"  was  the  order,  as 
from  a  dew-dripping  clump  of  blackberry-bushes  the 
rifle-barrel  glinted  in  the  starlight.  A  dark  form  came 
running  up  from  the  rear,  bayonet  advanced,  and  peered 
searchingly  into  the  major's  face.  They  had  no  coun- 
tersign, but  those  lads  had  learned  their  duty  from  a 
veteran  colonel  who  had  practised  it  before  the  Sem- 
inoles,  the  Sioux,  and  Mexicans,  too,  and  Stark  could 
not  forbear  a  word  of  praise  to  both  sentry  and  corporal 
as  he  bade  the  latter  summon  the  officer  of  the  guard. 
In  ten  minutes  the  entire  detachment,  with  its  prisoners, 
was  safe  within  the  wakeful  lines,  and  the  whole  bat- 
talion roused  up  as  one  man  to  welcome  and  rejoice. 
A  year  later  the  incident  would  have  been  too  trivial  to 
stir  a  man  from  sleep.  Now  it  was  of  tremendous  im- 
portance. Eagerly  Flint's  men  were  detailing  their  share 
in  the  exploit,  some  of  them,  exhilarated  both  by  the 
event  and  the  potent  apple-jack,  telling  rather  more  than 
their  share.  Gently  the  bearers  laid  the  young  officer 
under  the  trees.  Stark  motioned  back  the  inquisitive 
circle  that  promptly  formed,  gave  his  patient  a  long  pull 
at  a  flask  and  another  of  cool  spring  water  from  a  can- 

15 


226  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

teen,  and  then  gently  asked  him  which  he  would  prefer, 
— to  be  carried  into  Centreville  or  wait  there  until  a 
surgeon  could  come  out. 

"  I  do  not  care,"  said  the  wounded  boy,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Can't  you  suppress  this  somehow  ?" 

"The  bleeding?"  asked  Stark,  anxiously.  "Why,  I 
thought  I  had." 

"  No, — the  whole  business.  I  don't  want  mother  to 
know  I'm  hurt." 

Stark  scratched  a  match  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
Just  twenty-five  minutes  past  eleven.  In  half  an  hour, 
as  Upton  said,  the  army  would  be  astir  and  moving. 
There  would  be  many  another  name  added  to  the  list 
before  the  setting  of  another  sun.  Already,  North  and 
South,  the  papers  were  ablaze  with  tidings  of  that  mis- 
guided "  reconnoissance  in  force"  toward  Blackburn's 
Ford,  which  had  felled  some  sixty  men  on  each  side, 
sent  Tyler's  men  back  to  Centreville  disgusted,  and  in- 
spired those  of  Longstreet  and  Ewell  with  a  craze  of 
undeserved  triumph.  By  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
the  column  of  Hunter  and  Heintzelman  would  be  cross- 
ing that  guarded  bridge  on  the  way  to  the  upper  ford, 
but  they  would  not  wish  to  be  burdened  with  wounded 
and  prisoners  when  going  into  action.  The  battalion 
would  undoubtedly  be  ordered  to  join  its  own  regiment 
as  it  came  tramping  along.  The  general  might  extract 
from  these  prisoners  information  which  would  be  of 
value.     Stark's  mind  was  made  up  quickly.     A  lieuten- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  227 

ant  and  half  a  dozen  men  were  selected  as  guards, 
another  six  to  carry  the  mattress  and  wounded  pris- 
oner. Lieutenant  Payne  was  given  his  choice  of  the 
captured  horses  while  Stark  wrote  brief  report  of  the 
affair.  In  ten  minutes  everybody  was  ready.  Still 
bound  with  bed-cords,  the  three  silent  rebs  were  bidden 
to  fall  in,  and  then  for  the  first  time  did  Stark  open  his 
lips  to  his  orderly  since  the  brief  words  at  the  farm.  In 
the  hearing  of  half  his  little  command,  the  major  turned 
to  where  the  latter  stood,  silent  and  a  trifle  awed  and 
wearied. 

"  Lawton,"  said  he,  "  I  send  you  back  to  the  general 
with  this  party  for  two  reasons :  first,  because  you 
know  the  way  and  can  guide  them  ;  second,  because 
you  made  to-night  the  most  important  capture  of  the 
campaign  thus  far,  and  I  mean  that  you  shall  have  full 
credit." 

For  a  minute  there  wasn't  a  sound.  Snipe  felt  dizzy 
with  the  sense  of  instant  elation,  following  as  it  did  the 
languor  and  depression  of  the  moment  before.  Then 
some  sympathetic  soul  among  the  listeners  began  a  soft 
clapping  of  the  hands.  The  example  was  contagious. 
Before  a  repressing  word  could  be  heard,  the  New-Eng- 
landers  gave  vent  to  their  feelings  in  a  volley  of  hearty, 
if  suppressed  applause.  The  major  had  to  order  silence 
and  caution.  Then  handing  a  folded  paper  to  his  or- 
derly, with  a  grim  smile  and  a  friendly  pat  on  the  shoul- 
der, bade  him  mount  and  be  off,  and  hke  a  boy  in  some 


228  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

wild  dream,  incredulous,  unrealizing,  yet  with  a  heart 
throbbing  with  thankfulness,  George  Lawton  remounted 
and  rode  out  into  the  starlight,  over  the  echoing  bridge, 
and  took  the  front  of  the  little  detachment,  his  cheeks, 
so  pale  awhile  ago,  burning  now  with  pride  and  hope, 
his  thoughts  drifting  back  to  mother  and  the  boys. 
What  wouldn't  Shorty  give  to  be  in  his  place  this  night  ? 

An  hour  later  a  knot  of  newspaper  correspondents, 
orderlies,  stragglers,  and  servants  clustered  about  the 
party  as  it  rested  in  the  starlight  in  front  of  an  old  Vir- 
ginia homestead.  On  a  bed  in  the  rear  room  the  sur- 
geons had  laid  the  wounded  Confederate.  In  the  main 
room,  with  two  or  three  of  his  staff  and  half  a  dozen 
correspondents  pencil-driving  about  him,  sat  the  com- 
manding general.  Before  him,  silent  and  respectful, 
stood  brown-eyed,  long-legged  Snipe.  The  camp  lan- 
terns burned  brightly  on  mantel  and  table.  The  sound 
of  many  voices,  low-toned  but  impatient,  came  from 
without.  Something  had  blocked  the  road  in  front,  and 
the  march  of  the  rear  divisions  was  stayed.  The  gen- 
eral was  vexed,  as  all  could  see, — impatient  and  indig- 
nant. But  as  he  read  the  pencilled  lines,  handed  him 
by  the  adjutant-general,  something  like  pleasure  shone 
on  his  florid,  soldierly  face. 

"  You  chose  the  right  man,  Burnside,"  he  suddenly 
exclaimed,  as  he  turned  to  a  stalwart,  heavily  whiskered 
officer  who  entered  at  the  moment,  clad  in  a  pleated 
flannel  blouse,  with  heavy  riding-boots  and  breeches. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  229 

"Look  at  this,"  he  added,  handing  up  the  brief  de- 
spatch. "  I  wish  I  could  inject  as  much  sense  into 
some — generals/'  Then  he  turned  on  Snipe,  his  stern 
face  relaxing: 

"You  have  done  admirably,  my  lad.  How  old  are 
you?" 

For  a  moment  the  light  went  out  of  Lawton's  eyes, 
giving  way  to  trouble  and  embarrassment.  He  twisted 
his  forage-cap  in  his  trembling  fingers.  At  last,  huskily, 
but  with  reviving  hope,  he  answered. 

"I  told  them  I  was  eighteen.  To-night  I  tried  to 
prove  I  was  as  good  as  my  word." 

A  smile  went  round  the  room.     The  general  beamed. 

"  You  answer  well,  sir,  and  you  do  well.  Major  Stark 
probably  can't  spare  you  or  you  should  join  my  head- 
quarters' party  and  wear  the  chevrons  of  a  sergeant. 
Look  after  this  young  gentleman,  captain,  and  see  that 
he  has  coffee  and  supper  before  he  starts  back,"  he  said 
to  one  of  his  aides,  who  had  been  silently  gazing  at  the 
orderly's  face.  "  Your  regiment's  time  expires  next 
week.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come  to  me  then.  If 
so,  there'll  be  a  place  for  you,  and  meanwhile  the  home 
people  will  be  proud  when  they  read  in  Monday's  papers 
how  their  boy  captured  the  first  rebel  officer  at  Bull 
Run." 

And  with  these  words  ringing  in  his  ears,  the  lad  was 
marched  away  to  a  shed  outside  where  aides  and  officers 
of  every  rank  were  snatching  a  hurried  bite  from  a 


230  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

camp-table,  and  here  he  was  regaled  with  sandwiches 
and  coffee,  and  plied  with  questions  by  men  whose  pen- 
cils sped  like  mad  over  their  pads  of  paper,  and  they 
noted  instantly  his  embarrassment  when  they  asked  him 
about  home  and  parents. 

"  I  have  no  home,"  he  said,  simply.  "  My  father  has 
been  dead  some  years.  My  mother  remarried.  I've 
been  making  my  own  way,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 
But  more  they  would  have.  His  name,  of  course,  was 
known.  "  George  Lawton,  private.  Company  '  C,'  First 
New  England,  orderly  to  Major  Stark,"  and  at  last  the 
lad  said  his  mother  lived  in  Rhinebeck,  her  name  was 
Park,  and  then  he  broke  away  in  search  of  the  young 
captain  to  whose  care  the  general  had  committed  him. 
There  was  something  oddly  familiar  about  that  officer's 
face  as  he  greeted  Snipe  again. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  he,  leading  the  way  within  the 
hall,  and  thence  to  a  little  bedroom.  Then  he  turned 
and  faced  the  wondering  lad.  "  Haven't  I  seen  you  at 
the  Primes'  in  Fourteenth  Street,"  said  he,  "  and  aren't 
you  Regy  Prime's — Shorty's — chum  whom  they  called 
Snipe?" 

There  was  no  answer  for  a  moment,  but  out  came 
both  the  young  captain's  hands  in  cordial  clasp.  "  Why, 
of  course  you  are  !  I  was  sure  I  had  seen  your  face  be- 
fore. I'm  one  of  Pop's  old  boys  myself,  and  there  are 
more  of  them  round  here.  Shorty's  uncle  isn't  a  mile 
away  at  this  minute.     Lots  more  of  the  tribe  are  some- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  231 

where  with  the  army.  Why,  your  teacher,  Beach,  is 
with  General  Wilcox.  He  was  a  classmate  of  mine,  and 
we're  all  proud  of  }  ou,  Snipe  Now  you've  got  to  get 
back  to  your  major  to-night,  and  I  suppose  all  of  us  will 
be  fighting  to-morrow.  However,  don't  you  forget  what 
the  general  said.  Come  to  him  when  your  regiment 
goes  home  next  week  it  you  want  to  stay  in  service,  and 
go  on  to  Richmond  with  us." 

Alas  for  soldier  hope  and  projects  !  Long  before  the 
midnight  hour  came  again  all  the  general's  army,  some 
of  it  in  mad  panic,  was  rolling  back  on  Washington. 
The  Monday  morning  papers,  indeed,  gave  thrilling  ac- 
count of  the  heroism  of  Private  George  Lawton  in  cap- 
turing at  the  risk  of  his  life  a  daring  young  rebel  officer 
of  the  famous  Black  Horse  Cavalry.  Then  there  were 
details  of  Lawton's  prospective  promotion,  and  of  the 
general's  comphmentary  remarks,  and  Monday  morning's 
papers  teemed,  too,  with  tremendous  tales  of  battle,  and 
all  Gotham  cheered  itself  hoarse  over  the  vivid  reports 
of  the  annihilation  of  the  rebel  cavalry  by  the  terrific 
fighters  of  the  Fire  Zouaves.  But  by  noon  came  other 
tidings  and  a  turn  in  the  tide, — by  afternoon  details  of 
fell  disaster.  "The  Fire  Zouaves  annihilated  by  the 
cavalry  !"  was  the  way  it  read  now.  "  Our  splendid 
batteries  swallowed  up  and  gone."  "  Our  army  cut  to 
pieces."  Many  generals,  colonels,  and  captains  killed. 
Hosts  of  gallant  soldiers  slain,  and  at  last,  when  full  re- 
ports— authentic  reports — were  published  a  long  week 


232 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 


later,  among  the  wounded  and  missing  were  the  names 
of  Major  James  Stark  and  Corporal  George  Lawton,  of 
the  First  New  England,  and  Sergeant  Keating,  of  the 
famous  Fire  Zouaves. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Back  again  through  the  starlit  night,  through  dew- 
dripping  aisles  of  shrubbery,  through  dark,  leafy  groves, 
with  the  glint  of  the  picket's  rifle  ever  before  his  eyes,  the 
cautious  yet  excited  challenge  falling  constantly  upon 
his  alert  ear,  time  and  again  had  Snipe  to  dismount 
and  account  for  himself  before  he  reached  the  outposts 
along  the  pathway  to  the  north,  and  finally,  after  finding 
its  junction  with  the  wood  road  along  which  Upton  had 
led  the  battalion  at  dusk,  the  lad  came  upon  officers 
and  sentries  who  were  obdurate.  Oh,  yes ;  they  believed 
him  to  be  the  young  feller  that  twice  had  gone  through 
the  lines,  once  with  the  major  and  Lieutenant  Upton 
and  once  with  prisoners ;  but  now  he  was  alone,  and 
how'd  they  know  he  wasn't  going  with  information  to 
the  enemy,  or  going  to  be  a  deserter  ?  Snipe  argued  and 
pleaded.  Major  Stark  was  waiting  for  him  away  out 
toward  Sudley  Ford.  General  McDowell  himself  and 
General  Burnside  told  him  he  might  rejoin  his  com- 

233 


234  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

mand.  Then  why  didn't  they  give  him  a  pass  through 
the  hnes?  was  the  question.  The  countersign  didn't 
amount  to  shucks  out  along  the  pickets,  said  they. 
Anybody  could  get  the  countersign, — which  wasn't  alto- 
gether an  exaggeration,— and,  well,  he  might  be  all  right, 
and  then  again  he  might  be  all  wrong.  It  was  now 
nearly  two  o'clock,  the  hour  Upton  said  they  might 
expect  the  head  of  column  at  the  farm  bridge,  and 
Snipe,  whose  heart  was  full  of  glory  and  elation  an  hour 
before,  found  himself  compelled  either  to  wait  there  or 
retrace  his  weary  way  past  all  those  inner  posts  again  to 
the  now  crowded  turnpike. 

He  chose  the  latter,  and  after  an  almost  perilous  ride, 
for  more  than  one  raw  sentinel  took  him  for  a  rebel 
army  and  wanted  to  shoot,  he  reached  the  broad  thor- 
oughfare about  a  quarter  of  three,  to  find  it  still  blocked 
by  troops  of  the  same  general  who  had  made  the  mis- 
taken move  on  Blackburn's  Ford,  who  was  ordered  to 
have  his  division  on  the  road  to  the  stone  bridge  and  well 
out  of  the  way  two  hours  before, — the  same  fellows  that 
"  broke  ranks  at  every  blackberry-bush  and  spring  and 
well  along  the  route  from  Washington,"  and  before  the 
first  crash  of  the  shells  on  Thursday  afternoon.  Now 
they  seemed  to  be  lost  in  the  darkness  when  routed  out 
at  midnight,  and  not  until  long  after  the  proper  time — 
three  hours  at  least — could  the  guns  of  Hunter's  division 
get  the  road ;  not  until  nearly  dawn  did  they  cross  that 
old  suspension  bridge  across  Cub  Run  and  then,  turning 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  235 

to  the  right,  march  off  into  the  fields  along  that  guarded 
wood  path.  Not  until  broad  daylight  did  the  head  of 
column  reach  the  farm  bridge.  Then,  as  the  sun  came 
up  hot  and  strong,  and  Snipe,  after  a  long  night  in  sad- 
dle, was  able  to  rejoin  his  anxiously  waiting  major,  and 
Stark's  battalion  fell  in  once  more  with  the  left  wing  of 
the  New-Englanders  and  followed  in  the  wake  of  Burn- 
side's  Rhode  Island  battery,  the  long  column  moved  on, 
snake-like,  through  fields  wherein  the  dew  too  soon  gave 
way  to  dust,  and  not  until  nine  o'clock,  heated,  weary, 
hungry,  after  nine  hours  of  exasperating  delays,  of  al- 
ternate halt  and  march,  were  the  leading  files  plashing 
through  Sudley  Ford.  There  stood  the  little  church, 
and  this  was  Sunday  morning,  and  these  silent,  solemn 
fellows  who  came  plodding  up  the  southern  bank  on  the 
trail  of  the  gun-wheels  were  of  the  old  Puritan  stock, 
but  there  was  no  halt  or  time  for  worship.  McDowell 
himself,  commander  of  the  army,  had  accompanied  the 
turning  column  that  by  this  long,  circuitous  path  had 
essayed  to  make  safe  crossing  of  Bull  Run  and  bear 
down  on  the  rebel  left,  while  the  rest  of  the  army  waited 
in  front  of  the  stone  bridge.  Only  twenty-eight  thou- 
sand men  all  told,  with  twenty-nine  guns  and  a  single 
battalion  of  cavalry,  had  the  Union  general  with  which 
to  assault  in  their  chosen  position  thirty-two  thousand 
enthusiastic  Southerners  with  fifty-seven  guns. 

No  wonder  there  was  anxiety  in  the  wearied  eyes  of 
the  Union  leaders,  as  at  last  the  little  division  of  General 


236  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

Hunter  deployed  in  the  fields  south  of  Sudley  Ford  and 
came  cautiously  feeling  its  way  onward,  Porter's  brigade 
on  the  right  of  the  road,  Burnside's  on  the  left,  the 
Rhode  Island  battery  jogging  along  the  dirt  track  and 
watching  for  a  chance  to  form  forward  into  line.  After 
the  battery  rode  the  grizzled  old  colonel  of  the  New- 
Englanders,  and  after  him  trudged  the  long  column  of 
his  silent  men  ;  and  with  the  left  wing  rode  Major  Stark, 
and  ever  at  his  heels  rode  Snipe.  How  slow  seemed 
the  advance  !  how  tedious  the  incessant  halts  and  waits 
while  somebody  reconnoitred !  and  at  last,  issuing  from 
the  woods,  they  saw  before  them  a  long  ridge  running 
east  and  west  between  the  road  on  which  they  were 
marching  and  the  winding  stream  away  off  to  the  east, 
and  out  in  the  intervening  open  were  two  of  Burnside's 
regiments  in  line  of  battle,  slowly  moving  southward, 
and  on  the  west  side  Porter's  infantry  was  filing  into  the 
fields,  and  in  regimental  succession  facing  south  and 
following  the  general  move.  Nearly  a  mile  ahead,  until 
lost  behind  that  ridge,  they  could  see  the  trees  and  walls 
and  fences  bordering  a  straight  line  across  their  front 
that  they  knew  must  be  the  turnpike  they  had  quit  a 
mile  or  so  west  of  Centreville,  and  now,  having  left  it 
behind  them  there,  here  they  were  facing  it  again  with 
four  regiments,  at  least,  in  battle  hue  parallel  with  its 
general  direction.  Off  to  the  right  front  it  gently  rose 
and  was  lost  among  groves  and  trees.  Directly  ahead 
it  dipped  into  a  sort  of  hollow  where  a  little  stream 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  237 

came  purling  out  from  the  wooded  uplands  farther  on. 
"  Young's  Branch,  they  call  that,"  Snipe  heard  the  major 
say  to  Captain  Flint.  There  were  a  few  farm-houses 
and  enclosures  down  near  the  crossing  of  the  pike. 
Then  the  road  they  had  been  following  could  be  seen 
red  and  dry  rising  toward  the  south,  running  straight 
away  for  Manassas  Junction,  until  it  disappeared  over 
the  wooded  crest  another  mile  beyond  the  pike.  East 
of  this  road  the  ground  rose  abruptly  to  a  broad  open 
plateau,  skirted  east,  southeast,  and  south  by  a  semi- 
circular fringe  of  thick  woods.  At  the  edge  of  the  pla- 
teau, and  near  the  bold,  bluff-like  slopes  leading  up  to 
it,  were  two  roomy  houses  of  brick  and  stone,  sur- 
rounded by  fruit-trees  and  gardens, — one  away  up  al- 
most overhanging  the  pike,  the  other  well  down  to  the 
south,  closer  to  the  wood  road  they  had  been  following 
from  Sudley  Springs, — the  first  the  Robinson,  the  other 
the  Henry  house.  From  which  of  these  were  they  sig- 
nalling last  night  ?  was  the  question  that  went  from  lip 
to  lip.  Eleven  o'clock,  and  though  there  had  been  some 
sound  of  musketry  down  toward  the  stone  bridge,  and 
the  big  thirty-pounder  gun  had  let  drive  a  shell  or  two 
into  the  woods,  and  there  had  been  some  popping  of 
rifles  among  the  skirmishers  well  ahead,  not  a  uniformed 
force  of  rebels  had  the  New-Englanders  seen,  unless 
some  scattering  horsemen  galloping  through  distant 
lanes  could  be  so  regarded.  Out  in  front  of  Burnside's 
ranks  a  long  thin  line  of  skirmishers  was  now  making 


238  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

for  the  curtaining  ridge  in  front  of  the  pike,  and  all  on 
a  sudden  a  pale  blue  smoke-cloud,  like  a  long  string  of 
cotton  wool,  flew  along  that  crest  as  though  the  com- 
mand fire  was  given  from  the  far  right,  and  the  nervous, 
waiting  fingers  pulled  trigger  as  the  order  came,  borne 
on  the  hot,  sluggish,  summer  air.  Snipe's  heart  gave  a 
great  leap  as  he  saw  the  dust  fly  up  in  a  hundred  places 
just  back  of  the  distant  skirmish  line  and  the  skirmishers 
themselves,  with  much  alacrity,  come  sprinting  back  to 
the  line,  and  then  there  was  prodigious  waving  of  swords 
and  shouting  of  orders  and  galloping  furiously  about  on 
part  of  field-officers  who  had  never  before  smelled  pow- 
der, much  unnecessary  exciting  of  their  men,  much 
whoop  and  hurrah  on  part  of  the  advanced  line,  despite 
the  eff'orts  of  the  few  veterans  to  set  the  example  of  calm 
and  quiet.  The  instant  the  skirmishers  came  ducking 
in  out  of  the  way  the  long  battle  line  opened  a  rattling 
fire  upon  the  ridge,  doing  tremendous  havoc  along  the 
hill-side,  if  one  could  judge  by  the  rising  dust,  but  finding 
no  lodgment  among  its  hidden  defenders.  Then  a 
field-gun  banged  somewhere  over  east  of  the  ridge,  and 
a  shell,  whizzing  overhead,  burst  with  a  puff"  and  crash 
among  the  trees  back  of  Burnside's  reserve,  and  hun- 
dreds of  men  crouched  instinctively  and  sprang  back 
laughing  loud  and  nervously.  And  then  another  gun, 
over  by  the  pike,  west  of  the  ridge,  barked  angry  chal- 
lenge, and  sent  its  shell  whistling  over  among  Porter's 
men,  and  the  battle  lines  broke  anew  into  rattling,  crash- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  239 

ing  fusillade,  known  as  the  "  fire  at  will,"  and  then,  in- 
stead of  pushing  straight  onward  as  they  would  be  doing 
another  year,  the  two  brigades  halted  short  and  took  to 
long-range  shooting.  Then  Snipe  saw  the  battery  ahead 
of  them  beginning  to  joggle,  and  the  next  thing  "  For- 
ward, double  quick,"  was  repeated  along  the  column, 
and  off  to  the  left  front  across  the  fields  the  snorting 
teams  went  galloping,  the  guns  bounding,  the  cannoneers 
racing  after  them,  and  the  adjutant  came  running  back 
afoot  to  shout  something  to  Major  Stark,  who  still  rode, 
grim  and  silent,  along  the  advancing  column.  Up  to 
this  moment  the  only  thing  Snipe  had  heard  him  say 
since  the  first  volley  was,  "  Steady,  men.  Keep  quiet. 
Listen  for  orders."  Now  he  turned  round.  "Ride 
back,  Lawton  ;  ilnd  the  ammunition-wagon  and  bring  it 
up.     It's  the  colonel's  order." 

They  are  half  across  the  field  at  the  moment.  The 
air  is  ringing  with  the  blare  of  battery  bugles  and  the 
sputter  of  file-firing.  Smoke  is  drifting  across  the  eager 
column  of  New-Englanders,  and  there  are  queer  whist- 
lings on  the  wind  as  Snipe,  digging  spurs  into  his  tired 
horse's  ribs,  whirls  about  and  goes  darting  back  to  the 
Sudley  road.  But  there  he  has  to  draw  rein.  The 
narrow  track  is  blocked.  With  set  faces,  but  flashing 
eyes,  a  battalion  of  regulars  is  hastening  forward.  Then, 
with  cracking  whips  and  straining  traces,  strong,  mettle- 
some horses  prancing  in  the  fulness  of  their  strength 
and  spirit,  Griffin's  West  Point  battery  comes  tearing 


240  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

through  the  lane.  Wagons,  either  of  ammunition  or 
rations,  or  even  ambulances,  are  cut  off  somewhere  far 
to  the  rear.  Able  only  to  move  at  the  trot,  halted  every 
now  and  then,  and  forced  aside,  sometimes  even  com- 
pelled by  over-zealous  officers  to  halt  and  explain  why 
he  is  going  to  the  rear.  Snipe  is  full  half  an  hour  passing 
the  batteries  and  battalions  of  Heintzelman's  division 
pressing  forward  into  action.  Well-nigh  another  half- 
hour  is  he  in  finding  the  needed  wagon  and  compelling 
its  reluctant  negro  drivers  to  whip  their  startled  mules 
out  into  the  track.  It  is  after  one  o'clock  when  at  last 
he  comes  spurring  out  upon  the  open  field  again,  and 
now,  what  a  change  in  the  picture !  General  Hunter 
has  been  borne  to  the  rear,  wounded,  but  the  thin  line 
of  the  rebels  has  fallen  back  to  the  plateau  beyond  the 
Robinson  place,  the  splendid  regular  batteries  are  far 
over  on  an  open  field  near  the  Dogan  house,  to  the 
north  of  the  turnpike,  hurling  shell  upon  the  retiring 
rebel  lines.  Some  of  Burnside's  command,  still  halted, 
are  apparently  repairing  damages,  bat  one  regiment  has 
gone  on,  and  with  tumultuous  cheers  the  Union  men 
are  pressing  up  the  slopes  at  both  the  Robinson  and 
Henry  houses,  the  New-Englanders  somewhere  with 
them. 

The  road  is  blocked  in  front,  the  fields  are  strewn 
here  and  there  with  little  groups  hanging  about  pros- 
trate soldiers,  killed  or  wounded,  and  Snipe  nibbles  at  a 
hardtack   to   still   that  queer  feeling  of  faintness  that 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  241 

again  assails  him  when  he  recognizes  among  the  pallid 
womided  a  lieutenant  of  his  own  company.  Before  he 
can  find  words  to  speak  he  hears  the  voice  of  the  adju- 
tant, and  that  young  officer  has  a  handkerchief  bound 
about  his  head  and  blood  is  trickling  down  his  neck. 
"Ride  forward,"  he  says.  "The  regiment  is  straight 
ahead  over  that  first  ridge,  and  the  major  needs  his 
horse.  Yonder  lies  the  other.  I'll  bring  up  the  wagon." 
There  is  a  lull  in  the  fight  as  Snipe  goes  riding  along 
in  rear  of  the  battle  line,  seeking  the  New-Englanders. 
Other  brigades  have  crossed  the  run,  and  now  the  Fire 
Zouaves  are  marching  in  column  toward  the  regular 
batteries,  and  right  at  the  edge  of  the  pike  Snipe  finds 
his  old  regiment,  with  Stark  in  rear  of  the  right  wing. 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Proctor  is  gone,  shot  dead,  say  the 
rearmost  men,  as  they  were  crossing  the  ridge  behind 
them,  though  that,  happily,  turns  out  later  to  be  untrue. 
The  major,  however,  has  secured  his  late  superior's 
horse,  and  gravely  bids  his  orderly  welcome  with  the 
other.  Far  over  along  that  semicircular  fringe  of  woods 
to  the  southeast  an  exultant  chorus  of  yells  is  rising,  and 
a  staff-officer,  riding  by,  says  something  about  the  rebs 
trying  to  keep  their  spirits  up.  But  the  dust  is  rolling 
in  heavy  clouds  along  the  Manassas  road,  and  the  cap- 
tured wounded,  and  prisoners  overhauled  during  the 
triumphant  forward  movement  of  the  Union  line,  long 
delayed  though  it  was,  say  that  they  are  of  Johnston's 
army  from   the   Shenandoah.     Then   all   Beauregard's 

16 


242  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

must  be  yet  to  come.  Are  they  the  ones  now  doing  all 
this  cheering?  Snipe,  dismounted  and  holding  both 
drooping  horses,  stands  watching  the  faces  of  his  gray- 
haired  colonel  and  his  beloved  major,  now  in  earnest, 
low-voiced  conference,  and  it  is  plain  to  see,  if  not  to 
hear,  that  the  former  is  far  from  satisfied  at  the  way 
things  have  gone.  Over  an  hour  passes  without  another 
forward  movement,  although  long  columns  continue  ar- 
riving from  the  direction  of  the  fords  just  above  Bull 
Run,  the  fords  discovered  by  General  Sherman.  Many 
of  the  regiments  right  and  left  are  tossing  caps  and  hats 
in  air,  cheering  like  mad,  and  demanding  the  word  to 
advance  and  finish  up  the  rebels.  The  steady  can- 
nonade of  the  Union  guns  has  been  stopped.  The  bat- 
teries suddenly  limber  up  and  move  deliberately  out 
upon  the  pike,  then  turn  southward  into  that  road  lead- 
ing toward  Manassas,  and  next  are  seen  breasting  the 
slopes  to  their  left,  marching  up  the  height,  Ricketts 
well  in  front,  Griffin  some  distance  in  rear,  and  when 
they  disappear  over  the  edge  of  the  plateau  south  of  the 
Henry  house,  the  Zouaves  and  some  other  regiment  fol- 
lowing rather  slowly  in  support,  the  colonel  ventures  to 
say  that  those  batteries  will  be  in  mischief  before  they 
are  quarter  of  an  hour  older.  Twenty  minutes  more 
and  they  are  heard  again,  reopening  in  fury  upon  the 
enemy  unseen  by  the  halted  battalions  here  under  the 
Robinson  bluff.  And  now  it  is  after  two,  long  after, 
and  brigades  from  Tyler's  first  division,  fording  the  run 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  243 

above  the  stone  bridge,  are  strengthening  the  attack. 
Sherman,  Howard,  Wilcox,  all  are  there.  Victory 
seems  assured  if  only  the  line  may  advance,  crown 
those  heights,  sweep  the  plateau  where  now  the  bat- 
teries stand  almost  alone,  and  drive  the  yelling  rebels 
from  the  woods.  A  dense  smoke-cloud  rises  over  the 
thundering  guns.  Who  can  withstand  so  fierce  a  can- 
nonade ?  Snipe,  too,  wants  to  toss  his  cap  in  air  and 
cheer,  but  the  anxiety  in  his  colonel's  face  forbids. 
Thicker  grows  that  shrouding  smoke-cloud,  heavier  the 
thunder,  but  louder,  clearer,  and  nearer  the  crash  of 
musketry,  the  chorus  of  exultant  yells.  Surely  there 
should  be  an  infantry  division,  at  least,  to  line  that  crest 
and  support  those  guns,  say  veteran  soldiers,  and  all  too 
late  the  order  comes.  Out  from  the  woods  to  the  right 
of  the  twin  batteries  issues  a  long,  well-ordered  line  of 
troops,  commanded  by  a  general  who  knows  his  trade. 
Straight,  swift,  and  silent,  in  through  the  hanging  smoke, 
he  drives  them.  Instantly  at  sight  of  them  the  nearest 
battery  commander  whirls  his  muzzles  around  to  del- 
uge them  with  canister.  Instantly  from  his  misguided 
senior  comes  the  order,  "  Don't  fire.  Those  are  our 
friends."  Quick  the  reply,  "  They  are  Confederates ! 
As  sure  as  the  world,  they  are  Confederates !"  But 
Griffin,  certain  as  he  is,  can  but  obey  when  Barry  sternly 
says,  "  They  are  our  own  supports.  You  must  not  fire  !" 
Already  half  of  Ricketts's  horses  and  many  of  his  men 
are  down  when  that  menacing  line  suddenly  halts,  aims, 


244  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  at  short  range  pours  in  one  fearful  volley  that  rips 
through  the  batteries  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  Down 
go  dozens  more, — officers,  gunners,  drivers,  cannoneers, 
,  horses,— and  then,  in  wild  panic,  what  are  left  of  the 
poor,  affrighted  beasts  turn  short  about,  and,  snorting 
with  terror,  despite  every  effort  of  the  drivers,  come 
tearing  down  the  slopes,  limbers  and  caissons  bounding 
after  them,  straight  through  the  ranks  of  the  startled 
supports ;  the  precious,  priceless  guns,  the  stricken 
wounded,  the  heroic  dead,  the  gallant  officers,  aban- 
doned to  their  fate.  Brave  as  they  were  in  face  of  fire 
at  home,  this  was  something  the  Zouaves  had  never 
dreamed  of.  No  Ellsworth  raged  among  them  now, 
holding  them  to  their  duty.  One  wild  volley  they  fire, 
mostly  in  the  air,  and  down,  too,  they  come,  streaming 
like  sheep  along  the  hill-side,  leaping  the  stone  wall  and 
scattering  for  shelter.  The  panic  of  Bull  Run  has 
begun.  Down  among  the  scary  mules  of  the  wagons 
tear  the  riderless  battery  horses,  and  away  go  darky 
drivers,  mules,  and  all.  Vain  the  dash  of  generals  to 
the  front,  ordering  regiments  and  brigades  to  charge  and 
retake  the  guns,  now  being  dragged  to  the  woods.  The 
rebel  lines  are  mad  with  joy,  drunk  with  triumph,  in- 
vincible against  the  half-hearted  assaults  that  follow. 
No  longer  is  there  any  concerted  effort  on  the  Northern 
side.  Some  Union  regiments,  indeed,  charge  home, 
only  to  find  themselves  isolated,  abandoned  right  and 
left  by  less  disciplined  comrades.     Twice  the  New-Eng- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  245 

landers  breast  that  fire-flashing  slope,  their  gray-haired 
old  colonel  cheering  them  on.  Twice  they  come  drift- 
ing back,  bringing  their  scores  of  Avounded  with  them  ; 
but  when,  at  last,  with  tears  coursing  down  his  powder- 
blackened  cheeks,  Burnside  tells  them  all  is  over,  and  to 
follow  the  retreat,  it  is  the  old  Covenanter,  Flint,  who 
leads  the  remnant  from  the  field.  Their  colonel,  limp 
and  senseless  from  loss  of  blood,  is  borne  away  on  the 
muskets  of  a  squad  of  wearied  men.  The  major,  pinned 
under  his  dying  horse  close  to  the  Henry  house,  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  throng  of  rebels  when  the  right  gives  way. 
If  not  dead,  he  and  Snipe  are  prisoners,  for  the  last  seen 
of  the  youngster  he  is  trying  to  drag  the  major  out  and 
get  him  on  another  horse,  even  while  the  rebels  are 
swarminff  all  about  them. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

In  the  month  that  followed  the  panic  and  disaster  of 
Bull  Run  the  nation  seemed  to  realize  at  last  what  was 
before  it.  "  Little  Mac,"  the  idol  of  the  soldiery,  had 
been  summoned  to  Washington  to  organize  and  com- 
mand the  rapidly  arriving  regiments  of  volunteers, — 
splendid  regiments  from  all  over  the  Northland,  and 
though  the  flag  of  rebellion  waved  on  Munson's  Hill, 
in  full  view  of  the  unfinished  dome  of  the  Capitol,  and 
every  afternoon  the  Southern  bands  played  "  Dixie,"  in 
full  hearing  of  the  guards  to  the  approaches  of  the  Long 
Bridge,  the  Southern  generals  were  wise  and  refrained 
from  farther  advance. 

Within  that  month,  too,  almost  all  the  officers  and 
many  of  the  men  reported  missing  after  the  battle  were 
accounted  for.  Many  turned  up  safe  and  sound,  if  much 
"  demoralized."  Many  were  heard  of  as  at  Libby  and 
Belle  Isle,  the  Richmond  prisons,  but  not  one  word  of  any 
kind  came  from  Major  Stark,  not  a  thing  could  be  learned 
246 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  247 

of  his  devoted  orderly,  appointed  corporal,  said  the  sur- 
vivors of  Stark's  battalion,  the  very  morning  of  the  bat- 
tle. The  New-Englanders  had  gone  home  with  the 
thanks  of  the  President  and  Secretary  of  War  for  their 
gallant  conduct  at  the  battle,  and  their  faithful  service 
days  after  their  time  had  expired.  The  gray-haired 
colonel,  though  still  unable  to  remount  and  take  com- 
mand in  the  field,  had  been  made  a  brigadier-general. 
Flint  reappeared  at  the  front  as  lieutenant-colonel  of  the 
reorganized  regiment.  Everybody  said  that  Major  Stark 
would  have  been  made  its  colonel  had  he  survived. 

In  Gotham  there  was  grief  in  many  a  household,  but 
there  was  trouble  in  the  Lawrences'.  Poor  Mrs.  Park, 
as  was  to  be  expected,  could  give  them  little  peace. 
"Everybody"  now  knew  that  the  youthful  captor,  so 
lauded  in  the  papers,  of  the  young  Confederate  cavalry- 
man was  the  George  Lawton  who  had  fled  from  Aunt 
Lawrence's  roof  rather  than  listen  to  more  upbraidings. 
Mrs.  Park  had  first  gone  wild  with  pride,  exultation,  and 
delight  when  the  Monday  morning  Herald  reached  her, — 
and  then  to  New  York  and  Aunt  Lawrence  the  very 
next  day.  And  there  she  learned  the  later  news,  and 
stayed  a  dreadful  fortnight,  dreadful  for  herself  and 
everybody  else.  One  thing,  at  least,  was  comfort  to  the 
younger  sister,  and  comfort  she  certainly  needed  now, — 
the  mother  steadfastly  refused  to  believe  her  boy  was 
dead.  What  she  wished  to  do  and  what  perhaps  she 
would  have  done,  but  that  her  husband  came  and  for- 


248  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

bade,  was  to  go  to  Washington  and  lay  siege  to  the  War 
Department.  Mrs.  Park  could  see  no  just  reason  why 
the  government  should  not  send  forth  a  strong  column 
to  scour  and  scourge  Virginia  until  "  the  Mother  of  the 
Presidents"  surrendered  her  boy.  School  was  closed  for 
the  summer.  The  First  Latin  had  passed  its  examina- 
tions, matriculated  at  Columbia,  and  was  to  start  as  fresh- 
men in  the  fall,  minus  two  members  at  least.  Hoover, 
who  had  apparently  abandoned  his  academic  career, 
and  had  not  been  seen  around  New  York,  and  Briggs, 
ignominiously  "  flunked"  at  the  examination.  Two  others 
of  its  list  were  spoken  of  as  duly  admitted  should  they 
return  to  the  fold  in  time  to  enter  with  the  class, — 
Snipe  Lawton  and  Shorty  Prime.  Where  the  first  was 
no  one  could  conjecture.  Where  the  second  was  every- 
body knew,  as  Shorty  took  good  care  they  should,  if 
letters  could  accomplish  it.  There  wasn't  a  happier 
lad  in  all  the  lines  around  Washington  as  August  wore 
on,  and  the  army  "  got  its  second  Avind" — and  reinforce- 
ments. Short  and  small  as  he  was,  he  rode  as  big  a 
horse  as  anybody,  and  had  reached  almost  the  pinnacle 
of  his  boyish  ambitions.  He  had  been  made  mounted 
orderly  at  brigade  head-quarters,  and  could  ask  no 
more,  except  that  Snipe  should  know,  and  Snipe  should 
turn  up  safe  and  sound. 

The  Doctor's  wisdom  had  prevailed.  The  scare  that 
followed  Shorty's  disappearance  was  short  as  he.  Ells- 
worth was  organizing  the  Fire  Zouaves  at  the  time,  and 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  249 

the  lad,  in  longing  and  misery  and  in  envy  of  Snipe's 
inches,  had  stolen  away  to  the  old  haunt  at  "  40's" 
house  down  in  Elm  Street  to  beg  the  boys  to  tell  their 
enthusiastic  young  colonel  how  well  he  could  drum  and 
how  mad  he  was  to  go.  He  was  home  again  by  mid- 
night, and  late  to  school  and  lax  in  conduct  and  lessons 
the  following  day.  It  was  all  settled  within  a  week,  and 
as  the  Doctor  had  advised,  and  almost  crazy  with  joy 
the  youngster  was  hurried  on  to  the  capital  to  join  his 
soldier  kindred,  was  welcomed  and  set  to  work  to  teach 
other  and  bigger  boys  the  army  calls  and  beats  for  the 
snare-drum,  and  then,  along  in  August,  the  general,  for 
whom  he  had  run  many  an  errand  and  delivered  many 
a  message,  ordered  him  to  duty  at  head-quarters  and  set 
him  in  saddle. 

Then  presently  McClellan  found  himself  strong  enough 
to  risk  a  slight  forward  movement,  and  two  brigades 
crossed  the  Potomac  one  night  in  face  of  the  pickets  at 
Chain  Bridge,  and,  hardly  waiting  for  dawn,  began  toss- 
ing up  earthworks  on  the  heights  beyond,  and  here  the 
saucy  rebels  came  and  "felt"  the  pickets  and,  riding 
through  the  wood  lanes,  made  some  effort  to  dislodge 
them,  but  there  was  evidently  heavy  force  behind  those 
strong  picket-posts,  and  though  rifles  and  revolvers  were 
popping  day  and  night  all  along  the  guarded  lines  from 
the  Potomac  below  Alexandria  to  the  Potomac  above 
Chain  Bridge,  no  real  attempt  was  made  by  the  "  John- 
nies" to  push  through  at  any  point.     Night  after  night, 


250  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

at  first,  gay  young  gallants  from  the  Southern  lines 
would  mount  their  horses  and  ride  out  ahead  just  to 
"  stir  up  the  Yanks,"  and  then  there  would  be  no  end 
of  a  bobbery  along  the  front,  picket  firing  in  every  direc- 
tion and  the  long  roll  in  every  camp,  and  everybody 
would  turn  out  under  arms  and  form  line  on  the  desig- 
nated parade-ground,  and  stand  and  shiver  and  say  un- 
publishable  and  improper  things  for  an  hour  or  more, 
and  then  go  back  to  bed  disgusted.  After  a  week  or  so 
at  this  the  colonels  would  no  longer  form  line,  but 
let  the  companies  muster  in  their  respective  streets  in 
camp,  and  the  long  waits  were  reduced  to  an  hour,  and 
then  to  a  half,  and  in  course  of  a  fortnight  it  became 
difficult  even  to  rouse  a  drummer  when  the  long  roll 
was  actually  ordered.  And  when  the  sputter  and 
crackle  of  musketry  began  far  out  at  the  picket-posts 
in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night,  men  in  camp  would  roll 
over  and  grunt  something  to  the  effect  that  those  fellows 
were  making  dashed  fools  of  themselves  again.  And 
so  by  the  end  of  August  it  became  a  sign  of  "  scare"  or 
"  nerves"  when  pickets  began  firing  at  night,  and  when 
Shorty's  brigade  took  post  along  those  densely  wooded 
heights  and  had  got  fairly  shaken  down  to  business, 
matters  at  the  front,  out  toward  the  hamlet  of  Lewins- 
ville  and  the  lanes  to  Vienna  and  Ball's  Cross-Roads, 
became  almost  professionally  placid  and  disciplined, 
and  the  lad  was  in  a  sort  of  military  seventh  heaven, 
trotting  about  with  orders  and  despatches,  recognized 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  251 

and  passed  without  check  at  almost  all  the  posts  of  the 
main  guards,  where  even  officers  below  certain  grades 
had  to  show  their  permits,  welcomed  at  every  regi- 
mental camp  for  the  news  and  gossip  he  could  bring, — 
ay,  and  it  must  be  owned,  for  items  much  more  stimu- 
lating than  even  the  latest  rumors  from  the  War  Depart- 
ment, for  Shorty  was  many  a  time  the  bearer  of  de- 
spatches to  McClellan's  head-quarters  or  the  office  of 
some  high  dignitary  in  the  city,  and  his  saddle-bags 
were  never  inspected  by  provost-marshals  and  patrols, 
and,  now  that  the  sutlers  were  forbidden  to  sell  the 
fiery  liquids  of  the  first  weeks  of  the  war,  many  a  flask 
of  forbidden  "  commissary"  found  its  way  to  some  fav- 
ored tent  among  the  brigade  lines,  and  in  return,  when 
Sergeant  This  or  Corporal  That  was  out  on  picket,  the 
lad  was  sure  of  friends  at  court  when  he  strove  for  a 
peep  outside  the  lines,  and  one  of  his  absorbing  crazes 
was  to  ascertain  what  might  be  going  on  around  that 
mysterious  hamlet,  nearly  two  miles  out  there  in  the 
lovely  Virginia  slopes  beyond  the  pickets. 

The  fact  is  that  Shorty  was  consumed  with  ambition 
to  "  do  something"  like  Snipe.  He  envied  his  former 
chum  the  distinction  of  that  capture  of  Lieutenant  Gray- 
son infinitely  more  than  he  envied  "  Little  Mac"  the 
command  of  the  army.  Just  to  think  that  the  first  Con- 
federate officer  caught  in  front  of  Washington  should 
turn  out  to  be  a  first  cousin  of  the  very  Graysons  who 
were  with  them  at  school !     Just  to  think  that  it  should 


252  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

be  Snipe  of  all  others — Snipe,  a  First  Latin  boy — to 
make  the  capture  !  Just  to  think  that  Snipe  should  have 
been  all  through  Bull  Run,  while  he.  Shorty,  was  far  to 
the  rear  where  he  could  only  hear  the  thunder  of  the 
guns  and  the  tales  of  the  stragglers !  Just  to  think  that 
the  old  men  in  the  reorganized  New-Englanders  declared 
that  Snipe  was  the  best  soldier  in  the  ranks  of  Com- 
pany "  C"  if  he  was  the  youngest ! — Snipe  who  couldn't 
shoot  a  gun  six  months  ago  without  shutting  his  eyes, 
and  who  would  rather  fish  all  day  or  figure  out  equa- 
tions than  follow  the  band  of  the  Seventh  itself!  Just 
to  think  that  the  old  colonel's  written  report  of  Bull 
Run  should  include  among  the  few  names  of  those  de- 
serving especial  credit  and  commendation  that  of  Cor- 
poral George  Lawton,  Company  "  C,"  "  who  sacrificed 
himself  in  the  heroic  effort  to  save  Major  Stark  from 
death  or  capture,  and  was  last  seen  fighting  hard  over 
his  prostrate  body," — Snipe  who  used  to  turn  sick  at 
sight  of  a  fist  fight,  even  though  he  was  the  "  bulliest" 
first  baseman  the  Uncas  ever  had. 

Time  and  again  the  general's  diminutive  orderly  Avould 
ride  to  Colonel  Flint  to  inquire  if  any  news  had  been 
heard,  and  to  talk  with  the  old  men  of  Company  "  C" 
about  his  chum.  There  were  two  drawbacks  to  this. 
It  began  to  bore  Flint,  who  felt  a  trifle  jealous  of  the 
praises  sung  of  Stark,  and  it  gave  the  New-Englanders 
abundant  opportunity  to  chaff  the  lad  about  his  old 
friends,  the  Fire  Zouaves,  whose  conduct  or  miscon- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  253 

duct  at  Bull  Run  was  the  subject  of  the  derision  of  the 
"  steady"  regiments  of  the  army.  It  wasn't  that  the 
"  b'hoys"  lacked  nerve,  stamina,  courage.  They  had  lost 
their  soldierly  little  colonel,  shot  dead  by  a  fanatic  the 
very  day  they  entered  Alexandria.  There  was  no  one 
to  discipline  them,  with  Ellsworth  gone,  and  the  bravest 
men  in  the  world  are  of  no  account  in  battle  except 
when  acting  in  disciplined  unison.  Other  regiments  ran 
down  that  hill  as  hard  as  did  the  Fire  Zouaves,  and 
without  half  the  provocation  ;  but  everybody  pitched  on 
the  red  shirts  and  made  them  the  scapegoats  because 
they  had  come  with  such  a  tremendous  swagger  and 
had  boasted  so  much.  Shorty  beheved  in  his  old  friends 
and  stood  up  for  them,  and  lost  his  temper  and  said 
things  to  the  New-Englanders  in  turn  that  they  didn't 
hke.  "  How  came  it  that  you  could  stand  and  see  your 
major  down  with  a  dozen  rebs  around  him  and  make 
no  effort  at  rescue  ?"  he  demanded,  and  this  was  a  home 
thrust  that  made  many  men  wince,  and  at  last  it  leaked 
out  somehow,  as  such  things  will,  that  none  of  the  left 
wing  saw  or  heard  of  it  until  too  late.  The  smoke  was 
thick.  They  were  falling  back  as  ordered,  but  the  senior 
captain  had  been  wounded  and  sent  to  the  rear.  Flint 
was  acting  as  wing  commander,  and  when  two  com- 
panies on  the  right  begged  their  officers,  after  the  con- 
fusion, to  let  them  rush  back  and  bring  off  the  major, 
Flint  himself  refused.  "  We  have  lost  far  more  now  than 
our  share,"  he  said,  "  and  the  general  orders  us  back." 


254  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

And  still  there  lived  among  the  New-Englanders  that 
abiding  faith  that  the  honored  major  was  not  dead  and 
would  yet  be  heard  from.  "And  when  he  is,"  said 
Shorty,  "  you  can  bet  your  buttons  Snipe  and  Sergeant 
Keating  will  prove  to  be  the  ones  that  pulled  him  out, 
and  they  were  firemen." 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  Shorty  was  getting  "  too 
big  for  his  boots,"  as  Colonel  Flint  began  to  say.  He 
was  indulged  and  spoiled  to  such  an  extent  by  guards 
and  sentries  around  Chain  Bridge,  greeted  so  cordially 
by  generals  and  colonels,  and  hailed  with  such  confident 
familiarity  by  the  line,  that  the  youngster's  head  was 
probably  not  a  little  inflated.  He  was  getting  "  cheeky," 
said  a  spectacled  adjutant-general  of  a  neighboring  bri- 
gade. "  He  talks  too  much,"  said  staff- officers  about 
their  own  head-quarters,  "  He'll  run  up  against  some- 
body some  day  that'll  take  the  shine  off  him  if  he  isn't 
more  careful  with  that  big  horse  of  his,"  said  a  certain 
few,  who  hated  a  horseman  on  general  principles ;  and 
this  proved  a  true  prediction. 

The  big  bay  ridden  by  Shorty  had  a  very  hard  mouth, 
and  when  once  he  got  going  it  was  a  most  difficult  thing 
to  stop  him.  Galloping  about  the  neighborhood  of  Chain 
Bridge,  where  almost  everybody  knew  the  youngster  as 
the  general's  orderly,  it  made  little  difference  (although 
an  irate  Green  Mountain  boy  of  Baldy  Smith's  brigade 
did  threaten  to  bayonet  him  if  he  ever  galloped  over  his 
post  again) ;  so,  too,  on  the  road  to  Washington,  where 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  255 

permanent  guards  were  placed  at  different  points. 
But,  to  put  an  end  to  straggling  and  visiting  town  with- 
out authority,  the  provost-marshal  had  taken  to  sending 
patrols  here,  there,  and  everywhere  in  Georgetown  and 
Washington  with  orders  to  halt  every  soldier  and  exam- 
ine his  pass.  The  regular  infantry,  now  recruited  to  a 
war  footing,  were  assigned,  much  to  their  disgust,  to 
patrol  duty.  A  number  of  new  regiments  of  regulars 
were  being  raised.  A  number  of  the  New  York  Seventh 
and  other  crack  regiments  of  the  militia  reappeared  at 
the  front  with  the  uniforms  and  commissions  of  lieuten- 
ants in  the  regular  army.  It  even  happened  that  not  a 
few  young  fellows  who  had  never  even  served  in  the 
militia,  and  who  knew  nothing  whatever  of  duty  or  dis- 
cipline of  any  kind,  had  secured  through  family  or  politi- 
cal influence,  which  the  administration  was  glad  to  culti- 
vate, commissions  denied  to  better  men,  and  these  young 
fellows  were  now  wearing  their  first  swords,  sashes,  and 
shoulder-straps  in  the  onerous  duty  of  running  down 
the  merry-makers  from  surrounding  camps,  who,  dodg- 
ing the  guards,  had  managed  to  make  a  way  to  town. 

One  night  there  came  a  heavy  storm,  and  down  went 
the  telegraph  line.  Morning  broke,  radiant  after  the 
deluge.  The  Potomac  had  risen  in  its  might  and  swept 
away  some  bridge  and  crib  work  as  well  as  certain  pon- 
toons. The  general  wrote  a  despatch  to  army  head- 
quarters, and  called  up  Shorty.  "  Gallop  with  that," 
said  he,  "  and  don't  stop  for  anything." 


256  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

What  the  general  meant  was,  don't  stop  for  breakfast 
or  nonsense,  but  the  lad  took  it  literally.  He  and 
"  Badger"  were  a  sight  to  behold  when  they  came  tear- 
ing into  the  main  street  of  Georgetown  about  eight 
o'clock.  Badger  was  blowing  a  bit,  after  laboring 
through  nearly  five  miles  of  thick  mud,  but,  once  ho 
struck  the  cobble-stones  and  sent  the  last  lumps  of  clay 
flying  behind  him,  he  took  a  new  grip  on  the  bit  and 
lunged  ahead  as  though  on  a  race  for  his  life.  Shorty 
sitting  him  close  and  riding  "  hands  down"  and  head 
too,  his  uniform  besmeared,  but  his  grit  and  wind  un- 
touched. 

Out  came  the  regulars  at  the  second  cross  street. 
"  Halt !  Halt !"  were  the  shouted  orders,  but  Shorty's 
instructions  were  to  stop  for  nothing,  and  he  couldn't 
stop  short  of  three  blocks  anyhow,  no  matter  how  much 
he  might  want  to.  Past  the  first  soldiers  he  shot  like  a 
dart,  but  their  yells  resounded  down  the  avenue,  and  out 
came  others, — too  late  at  the  second  crossing  but  formi- 
dably prompt  at  the  third.  Two  of  them  levelled  their 
bayonets,  a  third  making  ready  to  leap  at  the  reins.  In 
vain  Shorty  reached  in  his  saddle-bag  and  brandished 
his  papers  and  yelled,  "  Despatch  for  General  McClellan  ! 
Ordered  not  to  stop  !"  The  soldiers  could  not  or  would 
not  understand,  so  he  had  to  lie  back  and  tug  at  the 
reins  ;  but  "  Badger"  only  pricked  up  his  ears  at  sight  of 
the  human  obstacles,  and  when  six  great  strides  brought 
him  close  to  them,  made  a  magnificent  dash  to  one  side, 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  257 

and  left  them  raging  behind.  But  now  all  the  avenue 
seemed  aUve  with  blue  coats  and  bayonets.  A  dozen 
men  lined  up  at  the  next  crossing,  and  with  a  sob  of 
rage  and  dismay,  Shorty  realized  that  they'd  bayonet 
Badger  rather  than  let  him  defy  orders,  and  so,  with  all 
his  might  and  main  he  pulled,  and  at  last,  plunging, 
panting,  heaving,  and  sweating,  the  splendid  brute  was 
brought  to  a  halt,  two  or  three  big  Irish  infantrymen  at 
his  head,  while,  scowling  and  threatening,  others  came 
thronging  around  him. 

"  Come  down  aff  the  top  o'  dthat  harrse !"  shouted  a 
Milesian  veteran  who  knew  his  trade. 

"  Despatches  for  General  McClellan  !  Most  impor- 
tant !"  panted  Shorty.  "  Ordered  not  to  lose  a  min- 
ute  " 

"Ah-h-h!  none  av  yer  guff!  Who'd  be  sendin' 
anything  'portant  by  the  likes  av  you?  Tumble  off, 
Tom  Thumb !"  and  the  sergeant  had  seized  the  official 
envelope  and  was  trying  to  lug  it  away. 

"Don't  you  dare  touch  that!"  almost  screamed  the 
lad.     "  I  tell  you,  I'm  a  general's  orderly !" 

But  for  answer  the  sergeant  thrust  a  brawny  hand 
under  the  hooded  stirrup,  and  with  sudden  hoist  sent 
Shorty  tumbling  over  to  the  other  side.  Furious  at  the 
indignity,  he  grasped  the  mane  and  let  drive  a  skilful 
and  well- aimed  kick  at  the  Irishman's  head,  which  the 
latter  ducked  and  dodged  only  in  the  nick  of  time. 
More  patrolmen  came  running  to  the  spot, — corporals 

17 


258  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  sergeants  whose  orders  had  been  defied, — and  in 
less  than  a  minute  the  bumptious  youngster  was  dragged 
from  his  horse  and  led  fuming  to  the  sidewalk,  just  as 
there  appeared  at  the  doorway  of  the  corner  building 
the  spruce  and  dapper  figure  of  the  youthful  officer  of 
the  guard,  his  uniform  spick  and  span,  his  sash  and 
sword  and  gloves  of  the  daintiest  make. 

"  Now,  then,  you  young  tarrier,  make  yer  manners 
an'  tell  yer  lies  to  yer  betthers  !"  said  the  big  sergeant, 
half  grinning  as  he  spoke,  his  hand  on  Shorty's  collar 
all  the  time.  The  throng  of  soldiers  gave  way  right  and 
left,  their  white  gloved  left  hands  striking  the  promptly 
shouldered  muskets  in  salute  to  their  young  superior, 
and  then,  covered  with  mud,  flushed  with  wrath  and  the 
sense  of  his  wrongs,  writhing  in  the  grasp  of  his  captor, 
Shorty  Prime  stood  staring  into  the  pallid  features,  the 
shifting,  beady  eyes,  the  twitching,  bluish  lips  of  the 
butt  of  the  First  Latin  and  the  whole  school, — Polyblas- 
phemous  in  the  garb  of  a  second  lieutenant  of  the  reg- 
ular infantry. 

Dead  silence  for  a  moment,  then, — 

"  Put  him  in  the  cell,"  said  Hoover,  and  turned  loftily 
away. 


CHAPTER    XXI 


There  is  not  room  in  this  brief  chronicle  to  tell  the 
story  of  Shorty  Prime's  sensations  this  eventful  day. 
Wrath,  amazement,  burning  shame,  and  indignation,  all 
were  struggling  for  utterance,  but,  above  all,  at  the  mo- 
ment the  youngster  felt  the  importance  of  the  despatch 
of  which  he  was  bearer,  the  need  for  its  immediate  for- 
warding to  general  head-quarters.  His  steaming,  hard- 
panting  horse  had  been  led  one  way  and  he  himself,  to 
his  unspeakable  rage,  had  been  hustled,  protesting, 
through  a  grimy  hall,  past  groups  of  grinning  soldiery, 
a  burly  sergeant  fairly  rushing  him  into  the  square  court 
beyond,  never  loosing  his  hold  on  the  collar,  and  then, 
as  Shorty  still  kicked,  struggled,  and  protested,  rein- 
forcing that  grasp  by  nipping  the  boy's  left  ear  with 
thumb  and  forefinger  of  the  other  hand.  The  precious 
despatch  had  been  torn  from  his  grasp,  despite  his  stout 
resistance.  Even  in  his.  "rage  he  had  sense  enough  to 
refrain  from   any  denunciation  of  the   lieutenant,  but 

259 


260  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

against  the  laughing  Irishman  who  had  dared  to  address 
him  as  Tom  Thumb  Shorty  launched  a  torrent  of  threat 
and  invective.  It  was  only  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
that  he  could  repress  the  flood  of  passionate  tears  that 
a  year  before  would  have  overcome  him.  The  storm  of 
sobs  that  seemed  imminent  would  only  have  made  him 
ridiculous  and  rejoiced  his  captors  the  more,  so  with  all 
his  strength  he  fought  against  it.  He  demanded  his  re- 
lease. He  declared  again  that  he  had  only  obeyed  his 
orders.  He  gave  his  name  and  that  of  his  general,  and 
insisted  that  every  man  who  had  treated  him  with  in- 
dignity would  suffer  for  it.  At  first  they  only  laughed 
the  more,  as  he  was  led  across  the  stone-flagged,  sunlit 
court,  on  three  sides  of  which  were  heavily  barred  and 
latticed  "  cells,"  or  rather  alcoves,  many  of  them  occu- 
pied by  disconsolate  stragglers.  But,  even  as  a  corporal 
was  unlocking  one  of  these  and  throwing  open  the  gate, 
there  came  stalking  majestically  over  from  a  little  office 
on  the  east  side  a  tall  man  whose  upper  lip,  chin,  and 
cheeks  were  shaved  after  the  fashion  of  the  Mexican 
war  days,  who  still  wore  the  high  black  leather  stock  at 
the  throat,  whose  buttons  glistened,  every  one  in  its 
place,  and  whose  sleeves  were  decorated  with  the  chev- 
rons of  a  first  sergeant. 

"  Let  go  that  ear,"  he  said,  in  quiet  tone,  and  jeer  and 
laughter  ceased.     "  Who  ordered  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"  The  lieutenant,  sir,"  answered  Shorty's  conductor, 
obeying  instantly,  and  speaking  with  a  deference  much 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  261 

exceeding  that  which  he  had  shown  to  the  suckling  sub- 
altern commanding  the  guard. 

"Who  did  you  say  you  were?"  asked  the  veteran 
regular,  professionally  grave,  his  steely  blue  eyes  seem- 
ing to  penetrate  beneath  the  mud  with  which  Shorty's 
face  and  dress  were  smeared. 

"Mounted  orderly  at  brigade  head-quarters.  Chain 
Bridge,"  came  Shorty's  quick  answer,  as  he  stifled  his 
rising  sobs.  "  Ordered  to  get  my  despatches  to  General 
McClellan  and  stop  for  nothing.  The  river's  washed 
away  the  pontoons " 

"  Where  is  the  despatch  ?  Let  go  that  collar.  Sergeant 
Hanley,"  and  Shorty  stood  released. 

"  Stolen  from  me  by  these "     And  Shorty  gulps. 

Even  now  he  knows  it  won't  do  to  call  names.  "  I  told 
them  my  orders.  I  begged  them,  and  the  officer  of  the 
guard,  to  let  me " 

"  What  did  you  do  with  them  ?"  interrupted  the  ser- 
geant, glowering  at  Hanley. 

"  Sure  I  don't  know,  sergeant.  The  lootenent  ordered 
him  into  the  cells.     He  was  sassin'  everybody." 

"  I  never  said  a  wrong  w^ord  to  the  lieutenant,"  burst 
in  Shorty,  indignant  that  he  should  be  accused  of  dis- 
respectful language  to  an  officer,  no  matter  how  much 
contempt  he  might  feel  for  the  individual. 

"  What  became  of  the  despatch,  I  say  ?"  demanded 
the  first  sergeant,  frowning  around  upon  the  now  silent 
circle. 


262  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  Corcoran  took  it,  sir,"  ventured  a  young  soldier, 
presently. 

"  Go  you  and  fetch  Cocoran,"  were  the  sergeant's  in- 
stant orders  to  Hanley,  and  the  big  Irishman  lunged  away. 
Here  was  a  power  indeed  !  the  majesty  of  the  discipline 
of  the  old  army  as  exemplified  in  the  first  sergeant  of 
thirty  years'  service.  "  Bring  that  bench,  and  water, 
soap,  and  towel,"  Avas  the  next  order,  short  and  crisp, 
and  two  young  recruits  jumped  to  obey.  In  a  minute 
the  bench,  with  a  tin  basin,  a  bucket  with  fresh  water,  and 
towel  and  soap  were  placed  before  the  bedraggled  lad. 

"  Wash,"  said  the  sergeant,  and  Shorty  pulled  off  his 
jacket  and  flannel  shirt  and  tossed  them,  with  his  natty 
cap,  to  the  pavement.  "  Pick  those  up  and  clean  'em," 
said  the  sergeant,  and  a  soldier  whipped  them  off  the 
flags,  while  the  lad  buried  his  hot  face  in  the  brimming 
bowl.  It  cooled  and  steadied  him  and  gave  him  time 
to  think, — time  to  recover  breath  and  wits  and  self- 
control.  Corporal  Corcoran  was  marched  in  by  Hanley, 
looking  queer.  The  tall  sergeant  gazed  about  at  the  circle 
of  listening  private  soldiers.  Non-commissioned  officers, 
said  the  regulations,  must  never  be  rebuked  in  presence 
of  the  men.  It  weakens  their  authority.  "  Get  you  out 
of  this,  all  of  you !"  was  his  order,  and  they  stood  not 
on  the  order  of  their  going,  but  were  gone  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell  it. 

"  Where's  the  papers  you  took  from  this — young 
man?" 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  263 

"  Sure  I  put  'em  on  the  officer  of  the  guard's  table, 
sir." 

"  Where's  he  ?" 

"  Gone  to  breakfast,  sir." 

If  the  sergeant  had  then  and  there  ordered  Corcoran 
to  "go  and  fetch  the  heutenant,"  Corcoran  would  have 
gone  and  tried,  and  it  wouldn't  have  surprised  Shorty. 
"  Fetch  me  my  cap,"  he  said  instead  ;  then  turning  to  the 
prisoner,  now  rubbing  hard  with  the  towel,  he  continued 
in  the  same  crisp,  curt  tones. 

"  Obey  orders.  Sit  in  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
open  cage,  "  till  I  come  back.     I'll  see  to  the  despatches." 

And  though  still  raging  over  his  misfortunes,  measur- 
ably relieved,  Shorty  saw  him  stride  away  through  the 
dark  hall,  saw  hoAV  the  soldiers'  eyes  followed  him,  how 
at  the  outer  gate  the  loungers  stood  up  as  he  passed  by. 
Then,  without  a  word  to  the  Irishmen  or  another  word 
from  them.  Shorty  stepped  into  the  wooden-barred  cage 
and  sat  him  down  upon  the  wooden  bench,  still  rubbing 
with  the  now  grimy  towel.  A  change  had  come  over 
the  situation.  Corcoran  presently  slipped  away  and 
speedily  reappeared  with  a  clean  towel,  which  he  handed 
to  Shorty  with  a  queer  mingling  of  anxiety  and  bravado 
in  his  manner,  and  as  silently  took  the  soiled  one  away. 
Hanley,  after  a  minute's  perturbed  pondering  over  the 
matter,  scratched  his  head  and  slunk — there  is  no  other 
word  for  it — into  the  neighboring  barrack-room.  Over 
in  one  of  the  other  cells  a  drunken  soldier  had  set  up  a 


264  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

maudlin  song,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  the  big  sergeant's 
soul  to  stop  and  tell  him  to  shut  up.  Four  or  five  other 
prisoners,  each  in  his  own  barred  cage  on  the  west  side, 
were  standing  or  sitting  and  peering  out  into  the  court, 
curious  spectators  of  the  scene.  The  cages  or  cells  to 
Shorty's  right  seemed  to  be  empty.  But  presently  there 
came  a  soft  knocking  and  scratching  on  the  boards  that 
separated  him  from  the  occupant  of  the  one  on  his  right. 
Lumber  was  bought  in  a  hurry  that  summer,  much  of 
it  only  half  seasoned.  The  planks  had  warped  and 
shrunk.  There  was  a  wide  crack,  and  at  that  crack  ap- 
peared an  eye,  and  through  that  crack  came  the  whisper 
of  "  Shorty,  Shorty.     Don't  ye  know  me  ?" 

Some  of  our  brigade,  thought  the  lad,  as  he  edged  up 
to  the  wooden  wall.  Some  poor  fellow  overstaying  pass. 
"Who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Don't  ye  remember  Desmond,  28's  Engine?" 

"  Desmond  !  Of  course.  Why,  what  brought  you 
here  ?" 

"  The  same  squint-eyed,  pasty-faced  pup  that  did  you, 
I  s'pose,  Sa-ay,  Shorty,  you'TQ  all  right.  They  can't 
keep  you  'soon  as  they  know  who  you  are.  The  officer 
of  the  day  comes  at  nine  o'clock  and  you'll  be  let  off  all 
right.  But  I'm  in  a  hole.  Say  a  good  word  for  me. 
Help  me  out,  and  I  can  tell  you  things  about  that  school 
you'd  give  a  heap  to  know.  Remember  the  day  of  the 
fire  in  Twenty-fifth  Street  ? — the  day  the  peeler  wasn't 
going  to  let  you  pass,  and  I  pulled  you  through  ?" 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  265 

How  could  the  lad  forget  it !  A  policeman  had  tried 
to  drive  him  back  when  he  would  have  worked  his  way 
up  along  28's  line  of  hose,  and  Desmond  gave  him  the 
big  nozzle  to  take  forward  to  the  pipeman.  Of  course 
he  remembered  it,  and  how  proud  he  was  that  when  it 
came  to  "soaking  down,"  and  the  big  nozzle  was  screwed 
on  in  place  of  the  three-quarter  inch,  the  wearied  pipe- 
man  let  him  take  hold.     Of  course  he  remembered. , 

"  But  how'd  you  get  here  ?"  he  asked.  "  How'd  you 
know  me  so  quick  ?" 

"  Lord  !  I  seen  you  every  day  for  a  week  when  we 
were  camped  near  you  up  there  at  Kalorama.  Second 
Fire  Zouaves  Tm  in, — Major  Moriarty.  We  was  down 
here  on  a  frolic  the  other  night,  an'  could  'a'  got  back 
all  right,  but  there  was  a  fire  on  the  avenue,  an'  we 
piled  out  onto  an  engine,  an'  when  the  fire  was  out  the 
fellers  took  us  round  to  their  house  and  salooned  us  to 
the  best  in  the  market,  an'  the  next  thing  the  patrol  got 
us,  and  this  shanghai  lieutenant  out  here  shoved  us  into 
the  cells  for  offerin'  to  lam  him  in  front  of  the  guard. 
Sa-ay,  ain't  I  seen  that  feller  smokin'  cigarettes  round 
the  stable  next  the  school  ?  If  'tain't  him,  it's  like  enough 
to  him  to  be  his  twin  brother.  If  'tis  him,  you  get  me 
out  of  this  and  I  can  tell  you  things  you  and  Snipe 
ought  to  know.  Lay  low.  Shorty ;  here  comes  that  big 
shanghai  sergeant.  Sa-ay,  ain't  he  a  rooster?  Do 
what  you  can  for  us,  boy,  will  you  ?" 

And  there  was  no  time  for  more.     Straight  to  the 


266  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

cage  the  sergeant  stalked,  and  for  the  life  of  him  Shorty 
couldn't  help  standing  attention,  as  he  did  to  his  briga- 
dier-general. 

"  I  got  those  despatches,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  and 
sent  them  right  on,  and  I've  sent  word  to  the  officer  of 
the  day,  and  he'll  be  here  presently.  Better  let  me  ex- 
plain.    You're  too  excited  yet." 

And  under  ordinary  circumstances  such  might,  indeed, 
have  been  the  wiser  course,  but  there  were  other  sur- 
prises in  store  for  Shorty  and  his  guardians  too.  Even 
while  the  tall  sergeant  was  asking  certain  questions 
there  came  the  hoarse  cry  of  the  sentry  in  front  of  the 
building,  "  Turn  out  the  guard !  Officer  of  the  day !" 
There  was  a  scurry  of  feet,  a  banging  of  musket-butts, 
a  word  of  command,  a  clash  of  steel,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment or  two  of  parley  without  there  came  through  the 
dark  hallway  an  officer  whom  Shorty  saw  to  be  a  cap- 
tain of  infantry.  His  sash  was  old  and  weather-stained, 
his  uniform  a  trifle  shabby,  but  in  every  move  there  was 
the  ease  and  swing  of  the  old  soldier.  Hurrying  after 
and  ranging  up  beside  him  came  another,  an  officer 
whose  sash,  belt,  and  dress  were  as  spick  and  span,  new 
and  glossy  as  those  of  the  officer  of  the  guard,  an  of- 
ficer who  looked  a  trifle  less  at  home  in  them  than  did 
the  veteran  on  his  right,  but  at  sight  of  his  face  the  light 
danced  up  in  Shorty's  eyes,  and,  forgetful  of  discipline, 
of  regulation,  of  martial  etiquette,  propriety,  he  sprang 
forward  with  a  cry  of  joy.     Barely  four  months  earlier, 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  267 

from  his  perch  on  the  lamp-post  and  through  blinding 
tears,  the  boy  had  marked  him  striding  down  Broadway 
at  the  head  of  a  famous  company  of  a  famous  regiment. 
Now  here  again  he  appeared,  in  the  garb  of  the  regular 
army. 

"  Mr.  Winthrop — Captain  Winthrop  !  Don't  you  know 
me?     Regy  Prime !" 

And  another  of  Pop's  old  boys,  another  Columbiad, 
another  of  New  York's  National  Guardsmen,  turned 
regular  soldier, — the  new  captain  threw  aside  his  book 
and  grabbed  the  youngster's  hands. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  preposterous,  Regy,  what 
are  you  doing  here  ?" 

And  then,  unnerved  and  overcome  at  last,  fearful  of 
breaking  down,  the  lad  looked  imploringly  at  the  big 
sergeant,  and  in  twenty  words  the  story  was  told. 

"Who  ordered  him  confined?  Who  took  his  de- 
spatches away?"  demanded  the  older  captain,  the  old 
officer  of  the  day,  with  threatening  eyes. 

Not  for  the  wealth  of  India  would  Sergeant  Brennan 
sully  the  unimpeachable  record  of  thirty  years  by  a 
word  of  even  inferential  disapproval  of  the  deed  of  a 
superior  officer. 

"  Call  Sergeant  Hanley,"  said  he,  and  Hanley  came. 
The  question  was  repeated. 

"  The  officer  of  the  guard.  Lieutenant  Hoover,"  said 
he,  in  answer. 

"  My  compliments  to  the  lieutenant,  and  say  I  wish  to 


268  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

speak  with  him,"  said  the  veteran  captain ;  and  there 
was  painful  silence  as,  a  moment  later,  the  junior  officer 
came  clinking  in,  his  black  eyes  flitting  nervously  about, 
his  blue  lips  twitching.  "  This  way,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Hoover,"  said  the  senior  captain.  "  Captain  Winthrop, 
will  you  favor  me  ?"  And  ushering  them  both  into  the 
little  guard-room,  the  captain  closed  the  door. 

Less  than  four  minutes  lasted  that  interview.  Mean- 
while there  was  silence  in  the  sunny  court-yard.  Bren- 
nan  paced  majestically  up  and  down.  Hanley  stood 
uncomfortably  a  moment  or  two,  then  tiptoed  back  to 
the  guard  still  standing  in  ranks  in  front  of  the  build- 
ing, and  Shorty  was  left  practically  alone.  There  w^as 
a  delighted  whisper  behind.  "  Sa-ay,  Shorty,  just 
wouldn't  I  rather  be  here  than  in  that  feller's  shoes ! 
Get  us  out  of  this  now,  and  you'll  see." 

Presently  the  glass  door  opened  and  Hoover  came 
forth,  shnking,  crestfallen,  twitching,  but  if  he  had 
been  a  conquering  hero  Brennan  could  no  more  mag- 
nificently have  saluted.  Halting,  facing  him,  his  white- 
gloved  hand  snapped  up  to  the  polished  visor  of  his 
cap,  and  there  it  stayed  unnoticed,  until  the  dismayed 
officer  was  swallowed  up  within  the  hall. 

Two  minutes  more  and  two  soldiers  were  sent  on  the 
run  to  clean  the  orderly's  horse  and  equipments.  A 
little  darky  was  set  to  work  on  his  besplashed  leggings. 
"  I'll  see  you  in  a  few  minutes  again,"  said  Captain 
Winthrop,  as  he  and  his  predecessor  hastened  away  to 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  269 

report  to  their  commanding  officer.  The  guards 
changed  on  the  pavement  outside.  A  new  heutenant 
came  in  and  looked  curiously  at  Shorty,  now  being 
regaled  with  soldier  coffee  and  a  huge  crust  of  "  Capitol 
Bakery"  bread.  Fifes  squeaked  and  drums  banged  on 
the  avenue  as  the  old  guard  turned  off,  but  Hoover 
came  no  more. 

When  Winthrop  reappeared  in  course  of  half  an  hour, 
"  Badger"  was  ready  in  front  and  Shorty  was  once  more 
in  trim  for  a  ride.  A  receipt  for  his  despatches  was 
stowed  in  his  belt,  and  then  as  the  captain  would  have 
led  him  forth,  the  lad  thought  of  Desmond,  and  briefly 
he  told  the  story.  Winthrop  nodded,  went  back,  spoke 
a  few  words  to  the  Zouave,  and  rejoined  the  lad.  Des- 
mond waved  his  hand.  Winthrop  grasped  Shorty's 
and  shook  it  warmly. 

"  Now  don't  let  this  mishap  trouble  you,  Regy.  No 
harm  has  been  done.  Good  will  come  of  it.  Now, 
good  luck  to  you." 

How  much  good  was  to  be  the  result  of  that  mishap 
Winthrop  could  never  have  guessed  at  the  time.  How 
much  poor  Shorty  had  lost  through  that  storm,  that 
morning  mud  ride,  that  arrest  and  incarceration  and 
the  consequent  fatigue,  he  was  to  learn  within  another 
day. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


The  general  was  an  indignant  man  when,  late  that 
afternoon,  he  heard  the  details  of  Shorty's  misadven- 
tures, but  the  general  was  just.  He  knew  that  battles 
had  been  lost  and  kingdoms  ruined  because  of  orders 
hastily  or  carelessly  worded.  He  might  have  known, 
as  he  said  to  the  staff  when  discussing  the  incident,  that 
if  he  "  told  that  little  bunch  of  springs  and  impetuosity 
to  stop  for  nothing  and  put  him  on  a  hard-mouthed 
horse  of  similar  temperament,  the  provost  guard  wouldn't 
have  a  picnic."  The  general  knew  he  could  not  ignore 
the  authority  of  the  provost-marshal,  but  he  might  have 
known  that  Shorty  would  be  little  apt  to  stop  for  ser- 
geants, corporals,  or  privates  when  told  to  stop  for 
nothing. 

Only  a  day  or  two  before  several  generals  and  their 

staffs  had  an  amusing  illustration  of  Shorty's  immense 

conception  of  his  official  position.     A  big  working  party 

from  the  brigade  was  chopping  trees  in  the  woods  a  mile 

270 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  271 

up  the  Potomac,  and  a  big  pleasure  party  from  Wash- 
ington was  visiting  General  "  Baldy"  Smith  on  the  oppo- 
site bank.  For  the  entertainment  and  instruction  of  his 
guests  this  accomplished  officer  had  ordered  out  a  light 
battery,  and  with  much  precision  that  battery  was 
driving  shells  into  that  very  wood — and  the  axemen  out. 
Bearing  fragments  of  iron  in  his  hands,  the  indignant 
officer  in  charge  of  the  work  galloped  in  to  his  general 
to  say  that  his  party  had  had  to  run  for  their  lives,  and 
the  work  was  at  a  stand.  Shorty's  horse  stood  ready 
saddled,  so  the  general  bade  the  boy  orderly  carry  the 
fragments,  with  his  compliments,  to  General  Smith,  and 
tell  him  the  battery  was  shelling  his  men,  and  Shorty 
and  "  Badger"  went  off  like  a  shot.  Over  the  Chain 
Bridge  they  tore,  to  the  amaze  and  disgust  of  certain 
sentries  long  accustomed  to  halting  everybody  that 
didn't  wear  a  star,  and  straight  up  to  the  brilliant  group 
at  head-quarters  they  galloped,  and  with  scant  apology 
and  only  hurried  salute,  the  youngster  panted  his  mes- 
sage and  exhibited  his  collaterals.  The  general  listened 
with  unruffled  calm,  inspected  a  fragment  or  two  with 
professional  gravity  and  interest,  noted  the  fresh  pow- 
der black  on  the  fracture  and  concave  surface,  passed 
them  on  to  his  visitors  with  some  placid  remark  about 
the  force  of  the  bursting  charge,  and,  to  Shorty's  un- 
speakable wrath,  appeared  to  be  in  no  wise  impressed 
with  the  peril  to  which  he  had  subjected  the  men  of  a 
comrade  brigade,  and  even  less  with  the  presence  of 


272  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  bearer  of  the  message.  Shorty  had  counted  on 
creating  a  sensation,  and  he  and  "  Badger"  were  the  only 
ones  to  show  the  least  agitation.  Bethinking  himself  of 
a  supplementary  remark  of  the  officer  who  brought  in 
the  news — and  the  fragments,  the  lad  returned  to  the 
attack.  "  One  shell  burst  so  close  to  Captain  Wood's 
head  it  almost  stunned  him,  sir." 

"Ah,  did  it?"  queried  the  general,  with  provoking 
calm.     "  And  was  nobody  hurt  ?" 

"  Nobody  was  hit,  sir,"  answered  Shorty,  with  temper 
rising  still  higher.     "  But  a  dozen  might  have  been." 

"  Ah,  well,  ride  back  and  tell  the  general  I'm  glad  no- 
body was  hurt,"  was  Baldy's  imperturbable  ultimatum, 
and  the  lad  spurred  back  in  a  fury.  Of  course  the  firing 
was  stopped,  and  later  the  generals  grinned  affably  over 
the  incident,  but  Shorty's  self-esteem  was  ruffled,  and 
he  told  the  senior  aide,  to  that  officer's  infinite  delight, 
that  further  messages  to  General  Smith  would  "  better 
be  carried  by  some  other  man  on  the  staff,"  and  of 
course  that  story  went  the  rounds  of  both  brigades, 
much  to  the  merriment  of  many  a  camp-fire,  but  not 
altogether  to  Shorty's  detriment. 

Now,  if  such  was  Shorty's  conception  of  the  gravity 
and  importance  of  his  duties  when  bearing  a  verbal 
message  from  one  brigadier  to  a  junior,  what  was  not 
his  immensity  when  a  hastily  written  despatch,  convey- 
ing tidings  of  flood  and  disaster,  was  intrusted  to  him 
by  the  commander  at  the  front  to  be  delivered  to  the 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  273 

general-in-chief  in  town.  Shorty  rode  like  a  demon  that 
day,  and  even  "  Badger"  was  amazed,  and  that  he,  bearer 
of  despatches  to  head-quarters  of  the  army  and  ordered 
to  stop  for  nothing,  should  have  had  to  stop  for  bayonets 
and  be  lifted  by  the  collar  into  the  presence  of  the  offi- 
cer of  the  guard, — that  he  should  find  in  the  person  of 
that  officer  the  butt  of  the  whole  First  Latin, — that  he 
should  be  ordered  by  that — thing — to  the  common  cells 
wherein  were  penned  the  drunkards  and  deserters,  and 
led  thither  by  the  ear,  and  an  impudently  grinning 
Paddy  if  he  loas  a  sergeant,  all  this  was,  in  truth,  too 
much  for  Shorty.  No  comfort  Winthrop  could  offer 
would  soothe  his  wounded  soul.  He  went  back  ablaze 
to  brigade  head-quarters.  The  general  was  away  up 
the  Potomac,  and  didn't  return  till  late.  Even  then 
when  Shorty  tried  to  tell  his  tale  his  excitement  and 
wrath  made  him  incoherent.  The  general  was  amazed 
to  think  that  an  officer  of  regulars  would  hold  his  mes- 
senger after  discovering  that  he  was  actually  the  bearer 
of  despatches.  But  Shorty's  animated  description  of 
that  callow  soldier,  and  by  no  means  guarded  references 
to  his  school  history,  gave  the  general  a  clue.  He  fully 
intended,  of  course,  to  follow  the  matter  up,  but  other 
and  more  important  issues  came  to  claim  his  time  and 
attention. 

That  night  at  nine  o'clock  the  general  decided  to 
make  a  personal  inspection  along  his  front.  Horses 
for  himself  and  two  aides  were  ordered,  and  Marmion, 

18 


274  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  colored  hostler,  presently  came  round  to  the  big 
tent. 

"Marse  Prime's  horse  done  gone  stiff,  sir,"  he  said 
to  the  adjutant-general,  "  and  I  reckon  Marse  Reggy 
don't  feel  much  like  night  ridin'.  He's  sleepin'  da'  on 
de  hay." 

The  officer  went  and  took  a  peep.  Wrapped  in  his 
blanket,  his  head  on  his  arms,  the  youngster  had  curled 
up  for  a  nap,  worn  out  by  the  excitement  and  emotions 
of  the  day.  "  Don't  wake  him,"  was  the  order,  and  the 
three  horsemen  rode  away. 

It  was  a  still,  starlit  night.  The  roads  were  yet  heavy 
with  mud.  The  horses  sank  to  their  fetlocks  and 
squashed  noisily  through  the  mire  until  the  little  party 
were  able  to  turn  into  the  cart-tracks  through  the  thick 
woods,  and,  joined  now  by  the  field  officer  of  the  day, 
they  pushed  on  to  the  outposts.  It  was  the  dark  of  the 
moon.  The  blackness  of  the  groves  and  copses  was  in- 
tense. Objects,  except  on  the  open  field  or  against  the 
sky,  could  hardly  be  distinguished  five  feet  away.  But 
every  now  and  then  there  would  come  the  muffled 
challenge  of  sentries  at  inner  posts  of  the  guard,  and  it 
was  over  half  an  hour  before  they  reached  the  outer- 
most groups,  with  the  line  of  night  sentinels  some  dis- 
tance ahead.  To  every  inquiry  at  every  station  of 
officer  or  sergeant,  the  answer  was  the  same,  all  quiet, 
all  alert.  There  had  been  much  shooting  at  patrols 
and  pickets   for  over  a  month,  a  practice  both  sides 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  275 

soon  abandoned,  but  at  the  time  there  was  hazardous, 
nerve-trying  duty  at  the  front,  and  few  men  welcomed 
it  except  for  the  excitement.  Somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  ten  o'clock,  following  in  single  file  a  winding 
wood  tracl^,  a  sergeant  leading  afoot,  the  party  ap- 
proached the  southern  edge  of  a  strip  of  woods  and 
halted  while  the  corporal  stepped  ahead  to  assure  the 
sentinel.  Then  the  general  rode  quietly  up  to  question 
the  man,  the  sergeant  assuming  his  watch  the  while,  for 
even  in  presence  of  the  commander-in-chief  there  must 
be  no  cessation  of  vigilance. 

To  the  queries  as  to  where  the  nearest  sentries  were 
posted?  what  were  his  own  instructions?  what  he 
would  do  in  certain  emergencies  ?  the  soldier  answered 
promptly,  perhaps  a  bit  impatiently,  even  as  though  he 
might  have  enjoyed  the  catechism  at  another  time,  but 
had  some  weightier  matter  in  hand  at  the  moment.  He 
kept  turning  and  glancing  out  across  the  open  field  to 
the  south,  stooping  once  or  twice  as  though  to  peer  at 
something  against  the  sky,  and  the  general  saw  and 
questioned. 

"  Anything  unusual  about  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  sir ;  at  least  I  think  so.  The  patrol  that 
came  by  ten  minutes  ago  said  that  they  had  heard  horses 
galloping  out  across  the  fields,  and  I  could  have  sworn  I 
heard  hoofs  on  this  here  bridle-path  where  it  dips  into 
yon  woods.  By  day  nobody  can  come  across  here  with- 
out our  seeing  them.     By  night  we  can't  see  unless  we 


276  FROM  SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD. 

lie  flat  and  look  up,  and  then  they  could  get  within  a 
rod  or  two." 

The  general  bent  over  his  horse's  neck  and  listened. 
There  was  not  wind  enough  to  rustle  a  leaf.  The  sky- 
was  almost  cloudless ;  the  fields  in  front  were  open  and 
silent ;  the  dark,  shadowy  woods,  beyond,  merged  in 
the  general  gloom.  Far  off  to  the  right  front,  over  a 
mile  away,  a  faint  light  gleamed  in  some  farm-house 
window.  Far  off  to  the  left  front,  the  south,  there  was 
a  dim,  lurid  tint  upon  the  night  that  might  have  come 
from  dozens  of  watch-fires.  Straight  away  in  front  the 
cart-track  dove  into  the  darkness  on  its  way  across  the 
field,  and,  over  against  them,  there  was  a  dent  or  de- 
pression in  the  outlines  of  the  fringe  of  timber,  as  it 
stood  against  the  southern  stars,  that  told  where  the 
road  entered  the  opposite  grove.  It  was  there,  right 
there,  said  the  sentinel,  he  was  almost  sure  he  had 
heard  horses'  feet,  but  nothing  else,  not  another  sound. 

"Did  the  patrol  stop  at  your  outpost?"  the  general 
asked  the  sergeant. 

"  No,  sir.  It  went  right  along  the  line  of  sentries.  I 
crawled  out  during  the  afternoon  and  climbed  a  tree  in 
the  field  to  our  right.  You  can  see  it  standing  there, 
sir"  (and,  indeed,  its  outline  was  faintly  visible  against 
the  stars).  "  I  could  see  some  distance  off  to  the  south 
and  southwest.  Lewinsville  and  the  barns  are  in  plain 
view,  and  some  scattered  farm-houses." 

"  Did  you  see  any  troops  ?" 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  277 

"No,  sir,  but  some  saw  me,  and  the  bullets  came 
a-singing,  and  I  had  to  quit  and  crawfish  back.  But  this 
path  leads  into  a  road  half  a  mile  or  so  out  there." 

And  while  the  sergeant  spoke  the  soldier  had  resumed 
his  watch,  and  suddenly  they  heard  him  whisper,  "  Hist !" 

"What  do  you  see  or  hear?"  murmured  the  sergeant, 
springing  to  his  side. 

"  There  is  something  out  there,  by  thunder !  coming 
this  way.  These  gentlemen  had  better  get  back  a  bit. 
I  can't  tell  how  many  there  may  be." 

Somebody, — some  party,  possibly,  stealing  up  to  feel 
the  pickets  again,  and  here  were  the  general  and  staff- 
officers  unescorted !  What  a  plum  for  Southern  cavalry 
to  pluck,  did  they  but  know  !  In  breathless  silence  the 
watchers  waited.  The  general  refused  to  retire.  Not  a 
sound  could  the  horsemen  hear,  but  that  sentry  sprawled 
on  the  ground  could  not  be  mistaken.  Not  an  object 
moving  was  visible.  Suddenly,  though  low  and  cautious, 
they  heard  the  click  of  a  gun-lock.  The  sentry  had 
brought  his  rifle  to  the  ready.  Then,  indeed,  must  there 
be  something  in  the  wind.  Ten  seconds  later,  and  low, 
firm,  so  as  to  be  heard  only  a  few  paces  away,  there 
came  the  order,  "Halt!"  A  brief  pause,  then,  with 
menace  in  the  tone,  the  challenge,  "  Who  goes  there  ?" 
For  an  instant  no  reply.  Then  in  tremulous  voice  came 
an  answer  in  the  field  to  the  right  of  the  road. 

"  It's  only  me,  suh ;  Marse  Finlay's  Brennus,  suh," 
and  there  can  be  no  doubting  the  Ethiopian  accent. 


278  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  Who's  with  you,  nigger  ?    Who's  back  of  you  there  ?" 

"  Nobody,  suh.  I'se  all  alone,  suh,  but  they's  some 
gen'lemen  way  back,  suh.     They  done  give  me  a  letter." 

"  Come  in  here,  Brennus.  Let's  see  your  letter," 
called  the  sergeant,  stepping  warily  forward,  his  gun,  too, 
at  the  charge.  And  presently  out  from  under  the  stars 
steps  a  tall  negro  boy,  lithe,  active,  and  alert.  He  is 
trembling  a  bit  and  uncertain  of  his  whereabouts.  He 
needs  to  know  something  before  he  can  impart  any- 
thing, and  presently  it  comes. 

"  Is  you  gen'lemen — Yankees  ?" 

"  Yankees  from  the  general  down,"  answers  the  ser- 
geant. "  Half  a  dozen  right  here  ready  to  hear  your 
story."  And  the  negro  seems  to  recognize  ahen  accent 
in  the  Western  twang  of  the  speaker,  and  to  take  heart 
at  once. 

"  Dey  done  gimme  a  paper,"  he  whispers,  and  the 
general  interrupts. 

"  Bring  him  back  to  the  reserve,  where  there's  a  fire. 
We'll  examine  him  there,  sergeant."  And,  turning  his 
horse,  the  general  leads  the  way. 

It  is  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when,  a  little  later,  half  a 
dozen  officers  are  grouped  about  the  slender,  tattered, 
weary  negro,  a  lad  barely  twenty  years  of  age,  if  that. 
To  the  general  he  has  handed  a  roll  of  tin-foil,  on  which, 
as  it  is  unfolded  by  the  gleam  of  the  camp-lanterns,  the 
word  "  Solace"  is  stamped,  and  the  thin  tissue-paper  it 
encloses  bears  some  writing,  over  which  the  general 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  279 

strains  his  eyes  and  studies  eagerly  ;  bends  closer  to  the 
light  and  studies  again.  Then,  straightening  up  sud- 
denly, he  turns  upon  the  young  negro. 

"  Where'd  you  leave  them  ?     How  far  out  ?" 
"  'Bout  two  miles,  suh  ;  p'r'aps  not  dat  much." 
"Are  you  sure  about  the  troops, — about  the  number? 
There  are  none  others?" 

"  Ye-as,  suh.     Dey  ain't  any  udder  companies  near." 
"And  you  can  guide  us  right  to  the  spot?" 
"  Ye-as,  suh.     Certain,  suh." 

The  general  turns  sharply  on  his  senior  aide.  "  There's 
not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  What  a  pity  we  have  no  cav- 
alry! Ride  straight  to  Colonel  Connor.  Tell  him  to 
rouse  his  regiment  instantly  and  without  a  sound. 
Leave  knapsacks  and  blankets  in  camp.  Guide  them 
here  as  quick  as  you  can.  Now,  captain,  this  boy  must 
have  a  rousing  supper.     He  deserves  it." 


a: 

.ii  MMiHII'lilfiiliii^i 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

And  now  if  there  is  a  boy  reader  of  this  story  who 
doesn't  say  it  is  high  time  he  is  told  what  had  become 
of  Snipe  Lawton,  then  the  narrator  never  knew  a  thing 
about  boys.  Leaving  Shorty  to  sleep  over  his  injured 
dignity  and  lose  another  of  the  opportunities  of  his  life, 
we  will  turn  back  the  page  and  look  again  over  the  stir- 
ring fields  thirty  miles  to  the  south.  As  neither  Snipe 
nor  his  major  nor  his  friend  Keating,  of  the  Zouaves, 
had  been  recognized  among  the  dead,  as  they  were  not 
apparently  among  the  prisoners,  and  as  they  certainly 
had  not  reappeared  among  their  comrades  along  the 
Potomac,  they  must  be  looked  for  where  last  seen,  close 
to  that  old  brick  and  stone  Virginia  homestead,  bow- 
ered  in  the  midst  of  vines  and  fruit-trees,  known  as  the 
Henry  house. 

Not  until  weeks  after — long,  weary,  perilous  weeks — 
was  the  story  told,  and  then  Snipe  was  not  the  narrator. 
The  grave,  taciturn  major  waxed  eloquent  and  even  dif- 
280 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  281 

fuse  for  once  in  his  life,  and  the  burden  of  his  song  was 
Snipe  and  Sergeant  Keating. 

After  their  second  brave  advance  along  the  plateau 
the  New-Englanders  found  themselves  unsupported  on 
both  flanks,  and  their  men  falling  from  the  hot  fire  that 
poured  in  from  almost  every  direction.  The  old  colonel 
hung  on  to  the  last,  but  saw  that  to  save  his  regiment 
he  must  withdraw,  and  so  gave  the  order.  They  fell 
back  fighting,  closing  to  the  centre,  and  only  once  was 
there  anything  like  confusion,  and  that  occurred  close 
to  the  Henry  house,  when  some  other  regiment  that  had 
suddenly  marched  up  the  slope  to  the  west  almost  as 
suddenly  broke  and  came  surging  over  the  right  com- 
panies, carrying  two  of  them  in  the  rush.  It  was  while 
staying  this  disorder  that  Major  Stark  was  suddenly 
dashed  to  earth.  His  horse,  disembowelled  by  a  whir- 
ring fragment  of  shell,  reared  and  plunged  violently, 
falling  on  his  rider  and  crushing  him  in  his  frantic  agony. 
Almost  wild  with  grief  and  excitement.  Snipe  sprang 
from  his  saddle  and  ran  to  the  major's  aid,  even  though 
a  dozen  gray-clad  fellows  came  bounding  at  them  through 
the  smoke.  "  I  declare,"  he  said,  afterwards,  "  I  thought 
they  were  coming  to  help  me.  They  did  help, — three 
or  four  of  them.  They  pulled  that  poor  horse  off  just 
as  we've  seen  a  crowd  pull  a  fallen  horse  out  of  a  tangle 
on  Broadway,  and  they  lifted  the  major  up  and  stood 
him  on  one  leg,  and  one  of  'em  gave  him  a  drink  from 
his  canteen,  and  another,  a  boy  like  myself,  actually  be- 


282  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

gan  brushing  him  off.  Everybody  was  so  crazy  with 
yelHng  and  shouting  that  for  a  minute  they  didn't  seem 
to  realize  the  situation." 

But  reaUzation  came  quickly  enough.  The  major's 
right  leg  was  broken  below  the  knee.  He  had  received 
severe  internal  hurts  and  was  dazed  and  sick,  and  Snipe 
and  a  "  reb"  between  them  were  supporting  him,  when 
some  officer  shouted,  "  Get  those  prisoners  to  the  rear ! 
Here  comes  another  charge."  Two  or  three  men  strove 
to  carry  the  crippled  officer,  who  was  in  great  pain,  and 
Snipe  was  bidden  to  bear  a  hand,  which  of  course  he 
did  ;  but  their  progress  was  slow,  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
somebody  yelled,  "  Look  out !  Lie  flat !"  And  down 
went  everybody  as  a  red  volley  flashed  through  the 
smoke  veil  from  the  west,  and  then,  loudly  cheering, 
another  Union  regiment,  a  big  one,  came  charging  across 
the  plateau,  and  the  "Johnnies"  had  to  scramble  to 
their  feet  and  scurry  out  of  the  way.  The  regiment 
bounded  right  over  them,  it  seemed  to  Snipe,  and 
went  on  at  the  guns  the  rebs  were  dragging  away,  and 
presently  it,  too,  was  swallowed  up  in  smoke  and  fire 
on  every  side,  and  wounded  officers  and  men  came 
drifting  back.  One  of  the  former  recognized  Major 
Stark  at  once,  and  made  some  soldiers  lift  and  carry 
him,  and  in  this  way  they  got  back  down  behind  the 
Henry  house,  where  there  were  hundreds  of  stragglers, 
— hundreds, — and  among  them  were  a  number  of  the 
Fire  Zouaves,  and  Snipe  caught  sight  of  Keating,  and  the 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  283 

little  sergeant  joined  them  at  once.  "  It's  all  up,"  said 
he.  "  We  hain't  got  no  discipphne,  or  we'd  a  cleaned 
them  fellers  out  quick  as  Forty  could  snuff  out  a  fire." 
All  the  same  he  stood  by  Snipe  and  the  party  carrying 
Major  Stark,  and  so  made  a  way  through  groups  of 
scattered  soldiery  until,  somewhere  ahead  toward  the 
Warrenton  pike,  they  could  see  blue  regiments  still  in 
solid  line,  and  ambulances  and  wagons,  and  thither  they 
bore  their  officer  until  at  last  they  laid  him  behind  the 
shelter  of  a  stone  wall ;  and  there  they  found  one  of 
Burnside's  regiments  waiting  orders,  and  its  surgeon 
hurried  to  their  aid,  and  slit  up  the  major's  trousers  and 
knocked  the  lid  of  a  cracker-box  into  splints,  and  deftly 
set  and  bandaged  the  fractured  leg  while  the  battle 
raged  at  the  front.  Sherman  and  Wilcox  and  Burnside 
still  had  unbroken  and  reliable  regiments.  The  little 
detachment  of  regular  cavalry  was  drawn  up  out  there 
to  the  south  on  the  heights  near  the  Chinn  house.  The 
captured  batteries  might  still  be  retaken  if  only  some 
practised  hand  could  put  in  a  brigade  or  two  together. 
But  just  as  they  were  getting  the  major  into  an  ambu- 
lance there  came  fierce,  crashing  volleys  through  the 
woods  in  the  direction  of  the  Junction,  and  a  grand 
chorus  of  exultant  cheers  and  yells.  A  fresh  fine  of 
troops  burst  from  the  fringe  of  woods  directly  at  the 
south  and  from  the  west  of  the  Sudley  Springs  road. 
The  regiments  then  advancing  up  the  slope  were  struck 
in  flank  and  rear.     The  cavalry  came  whirling  down 


284  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD, 

off  the  height  with  many  a  saddle  empty,  and  everybody 
seemed  to  realize  at  once  that  more  of  Johnston's  troops 
had  arrived  and  turned  the  right  of  the  line,  and  then 
everything  seemed  to  melt  away  in  earnest. 

"  Still,"  said  the  major,  in  telling  of  it  later,  "  we  could 
not  realize  we  were  badly  whipped.  We  knew  we  must 
have  punished  them  as  hard  as  we  were  punished,  all 
but  the  mishandling,  perhaps,  of  those  batteries,  and  all 
that  seemed  necessary  was  to  fall  back  on  the  heights 
of  Centreville  and  there  stand  our  ground."  But  in- 
stead of  going  thither  by  the  direct  route  along  the  pike, 
which  would  have  held  the  commands  together,  through 
some  further  mischance  the  brigades,  left  finally  to  shift 
for  themselves,  drifted  back  the  way  they  came,  and  this 
led  to  the  further  disaster  to  the  north  of  Bull  Run. 
No  sooner  had  the  retiring  troops  "  uncovered"  the 
stone  bridge  than  Confederate  guns  and  cavalry  pushed 
forward,  and  one  well-handled  battery  found  a  position 
from  which  it  could  easily  command  that  suspension 
bridge  over  Cub  Run,  some  two  miles  farther  east. 
And  then  the  fun  began  in  earnest — for  the  rebs.  That 
bridge  was  the  sole  means  of  escape  of  all  Union  bat- 
teries and  a  whole  menagerie  of  draught  animals,  wagons, 
ambulances,  and  even  buggies  and  carriages  of  sight- 
seers from  Washington,  all  surging  back  that  way.  A 
shell  exploding  on  the  bridge  killed  and  wounded  the 
mules  of  a  heavy  wagon,  which  was  instantly  over- 
turned, completely  blocking  the  passage  for  other  wheels. 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  285 

More  shells  burst  about  the  ears  of  the  now  demoralized 
drivers  and  teamsters,  who  cut  their  traces,  mounted 
their  animals,  and  rode  madly  away.  As  darkness  fell 
gradually  upon  the  scene,  a  dozen  more  splendid  guns 
and  several  dozen  wagon-loads  of  stores  and  supplies 
were  left,  and  among  the  abandoned  vehicles  was  the 
ambulance  conveying  the  wounded  major,  watched  over 
by  faithful  Snipe  and  Sergeant  Keating. 

But  even  now  the  lad  did  not  despair.  At  the  steep 
bank  of  Cub  Run,  half  a  mile  north  of  the  fatal  bridge, 
a  two-horse,  two-seated  open  farm  wagon  had  been  left 
by  its  terror-stricken  owners,  who  half  waded,  half 
swam,  across  and  scurried  up  the  opposite  slope.  A 
bright  idea  struck  the  boy.  It  was  impossible  to  get 
across  Cub  Run  with  a  wagon.  But  there  were  the 
open  fields  to  the  west  of  it.  There  were  those  wood 
roads  that  he  had  traversed  the  night  before.  Why  not 
try  that  way  ?  Somehow,  between  them,  he  and  Keat- 
ing got  that  team  and  wagon  turned  about.  Then  they 
"  boosted"  the  major  to  the  rear  seat,  where  Keating 
supported  him,  while  Snipe  took  the  reins  and,  turning 
sharp  to  the  north,  with  dozens  of  fugitives  yelling  cau- 
tion, comment,  or  suggestion,  he  drove  away  from  them 
all  into  the  cool,  dark  woodland  lanes  that  wound  along 
east  of  the  route  the  disordered  column  was  following, 
and  just  about  dusk,  emerging  on  the  other  side.  Snipe 
caught  sight  of  the  ridge  and  the  farm-house,  the  scene 
of  his  exploit  the  night  before.     How  changed  were  all 


286  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

conditions  now !  Away  down  on  the  lowlands  near 
Bull  Run,  in  long  column  of  twos  or  fours,  some  regi- 
mental fragments  were  still  strung  out,  trailing  wearily 
from  Sudley  Ford.  They  still  interposed,  therefore,  be- 
tween the  fugitives  and  the  enemy.  The  major,  though 
making  no  moan,  was  ashen  with  the  agony  caused  by 
the  jolting  of  the  wagon.  The  sweat  was  starting  in 
beads  from  his  forehead,  and  Keating  said  they  must 
give  him  rest.  Huddled  behind  the  farm-house  they 
found  the  two  trembling  old  negroes  left  there  as  care- 
takers. Though  unnerved  by  the  sound  of  battle,  they 
had  not  dared  desert  their  post.  Snipe  bade  them  bring 
out  instantly  a  mattress  and  blankets.  The  seats  were 
taken  from  the  wagon.  The  mattress  and  blankets  were 
spread  upon  the  bottom.  One  of  the  old  darkies  cooked 
a  substantial  supper.  The  horses  were  watered  and  fed. 
Provisions,  wine,  and  apple-jack  were  stowed  in  the 
wagon.  The  major,  rested  and  partially  revived,  was 
lifted  in.  Then  with  Snipe  and  Keating  trudging  along- 
side, once  more  under  the  starlight  they  drove  eastward 
on  the  road  leading,  as  the  old  darkies  said,  right  over 
to  the  turnpike. 

But  a  sore  trial  awaited  them.  A  mile  or  more  they 
moved  cautiously  along,  and  then  began  the  descent  of 
a  slope,  at  the  bottom  of  which  Snipe  felt  sure  they 
would  find  Cub  Run.  There  was  the  Run,  placid,  deep, 
steep-banked  as  ever,  but  the  vitally  important  bridge 
was  cut  away.     Grayson's  troopers,  to  secure  themselves 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD,  287 

against  surprise,  had  destroyed  it  two  days  before.  Far- 
ther in  that  direction  they  could  not  go.  Here  they 
could  not  stay.  Any  moment  might  bring  the  Black 
Horse  Cavalry,  of  which  so  much  had  been  said  and  so 
little  seen,  scouting  around  that  flank  of  the  retreating 
army.  Away  off  to  the  southeast,  about  Centreville, 
they  could  hear  the  confused  sounds  of  bugle  calls. 
Away  off  to  the  south  Blenker's  reserve  brigade  was 
still  in  line  of  battle,  covering  the  Union  retreat.  Every 
now  and  then  the  rising  night  wind  would  bear  the  dis- 
tant crackle  and  crash  of  file  firing,  but  the  bigger  guns 
were  still,  and  here  in  the  pitchy  darkness,  with  a 
strange  team,  in  a  strange  land,  were  Snipe  and  Keating, 
sole  guardians  of  a  precious  life, — that  of  the  wounded 
and  suffering  major.  "  It's  of  no  use,  boys,"  said  Stark, 
faintly.  "  Drive  slowly  back  to  the  house  and  leave  me 
with  the  old  darkies.  Then  you  go  and  make  the  best 
of  your  way  to  Fairfax.     You'll  be  safe  there." 

They  did  turn  about  and  drive  to  the  farm-house  and 
"  rout  out"  the  darkies  again,  but  only  to  make  one  of 
the  old  servitors  come  as  a  guide,  for  Snipe  and  the  ser- 
geant both  declared  no  rebel  should  lug  that  Yankee 
major  off  to  prison  so  long  as  wit  or  work  could  save 
him. 

All  night  they  plodded  slowly  on,  twisting  and  turn- 
ing through  country  lanes  or  bridle-trackSo  Time  and 
again  they  had  to  halt  and  scout,  for  the  poor  bewildered 
negro  lost  the  way  again   and  again,  and  when  at  last 


288  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

morning  dawned,  they  were  not  nine  miles  on  a  bee-line 
north  of  Sudley  church,  but  were  hopelessly  far  from 
Fairfax.  And  now  the  rain  that  always  follows  a  heavy 
battle  began  to  fall.  They  hid  in  the  thicket  all  the 
hours  till  darkness  came  again,  drowsing  by  turns.  They 
hitched  in  and  again  pushed  northward  at  nightfall,  but 
the  stars  were  hidden.  There  was  nothing  to  guide 
them.  They  groped  into  another  thicket  and  hid  an- 
other day,  the  rain  still  pouring  steadily.  Snipe 
"shinned"  up  a  tree  and  took  the  bearings  of  the  farm- 
houses within  sight ;  took  heart  because  he  saw  no 
signs  of  scouting  cavalry,  everything  being  now  afar  off 
to  the  eastward  along  the  main  roads  to  Washington, 
and,  turning  his  jacket  inside  out,  after  brief  confer- 
ence with  Keating  he  stole  away  through  the  dripping 
thickets,  and  lurked  about  the  nearest  farm  until  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  negro  hear  his  cautious  signals. 
Money  was  potent  and  the  major  had  plenty.  The 
darky  brought  grain  for  the  horses,  and  chickens,  eggs, 
and  milk,  and  that  night  guided  them  through  many  a 
devious  way  until  within  an  hour  of  dawn  they  were 
again  hidden  in  the  thick  woods,  still  farther  to  the 
northwest  and  away  from  the  travelled  roads.  The 
nearest  village  now  seemed  eight  or  ten  miles  away. 
Before  the  negro  left  them  he  hunted  up  a  friend  to  take 
his  place.  Ten  dollars  for  his  night's  work !  It  was  a 
fortune,  and  eagerly  his  successor  sought  to  earn  as 
much. 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  289 

And  so,  guided  and  fed  by  darkies,  hiding  by  day  and 
journeying  occasionally  by  night,  they  kept  on  for  nearly 
a  week,  heading  for  the  Potomac  about  Edwards'  Ferry, 
hoping  to  dodge  all  patrols  meantime  and  to  discover 
some  way  of  slipping  past  the  pickets  as  they  neared  the 
river.  Nearer  Washington  every  bridle-path  they  knew 
would  be  guarded.  Through  the  relays  of  darkies 
they  learned  that  General  Beauregard's  army  had  en- 
veloped the  defences  of  the  capital  on  the  south  side 
of  the  Potomac,  and  that  troops  were  passing  to  and  fro 
all  over  the  country  between  Leesburg  and  Alexandria. 
Major  Stark  said,  therefore,  their  only  chance  was  to  lie 
in  hiding  somewhere  until  his  leg  had  knit.  Money  he 
still  fortunately  had  in  sufficient  quantity.  Keating  still 
had  his  rifle  and  revolver,  though  the  major  and  Snipe 
had  been  bereft  of  their  pistols.  Their  negro  friend  led 
them  to  a  dense  thicket  in  a  deep  ravine,  far  from  the 
highways  and  byways.  Wood  and  water  were  abun- 
dant. Shelter  they  made  of  boughs.  Food  and  news 
the  darkies  brought  them  in  quantities,  and  here  they 
nursed  their  plucky  major  and  studied  the  country  to- 
ward the  Potomac  until  at  last  the  bone  seemed  knitting, 
and  then,  one  starlit  night,  late  in  August,  pushed  cau- 
tiously on  again,  still  taking  their  wagon,  and  with  the 
dawn  of  the  next  day  they  were  across  the  Leesburg 
road  and  deep  in  the  woods  toward  the  ferry.  Here 
another  stay  became  necessary.  Southern  pickets  and 
patrols  lined  the  banks  of  the  stream,  and  a  day  or  two 

19 


290  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

later  their  new  guide,  a  negro  boy  of  eighteen,  crept  to 
them  in  terror  to  say  he  felt  sure  somebody  must  have 
"  peached,"  for  "  cavalry  gemmen"  were  inquiring  at 
every  house  and  hamlet.  A  whole  company  had  ridden 
out  from  Vienna  that  very  day,  and  they  were  asking  if 
any  one  had  seen  a  two-horse  farm  wagon,  with  a  sick 
man  in  it,  and  two  other  men  driving.  Troopers  were 
beating  up  the  wood  roads  then.  In  half  an  hour  the 
wagon  was  in  ashes,  the  tires  and  iron  work  hidden  in 
the  brush,  and  with  Stark  astride  one  horse.  Snipe  and 
Keating  alternating  on  the  other,  they  pushed  through  the 
forest  to  another  hiding-place,  hearing  the  whoops  and 
yells  and  signal  shots  of  the  cavalry  every  hour  until 
dusk.  Then,  with  their  negro  guide,  they  kept  on  all 
night  long,  halting  and  dodging  every  little  while ;  hid 
in  the  woods  within  sound  of  the  Southern  bugles  all 
another  day ;  stole  on  southeastward  all  another  night, 
until  their  guide  said  Lewinsville  was  not  a  mile  away 
to  the  south,  and  the  Yankee  pickets  in  front  of  Chain 
Bridge  only  a  mile  or  so  to  the  northeast.  That  day 
proved  most  eventful  of  all.  Hungry,  thirsty,  and 
weary,  they  were  waiting  the  return  of  Brennus,  as 
was  the  classic  name  of  their  guide,  when  about  dark 
he  reached  them  empty-handed.  Not  a  moment  was  to 
be  lost,  said  he.  The  cavalry  had  struck  their  trail  and 
were  following  the  horse-tracks  through  the  woods. 
There  was  an  abandoned  hut,  a  woodman's,  half  a  mile 
away,  and  thither  Stark  limped  painfully,  leaning  hard 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  291 

upon  his  friends.  They  managed  to  reach  it  just  in  time, 
their  horses  being  left  to  shift  for  themselves.  They 
were  now  close  to  the  Union  lines,  yet  the  gray  pickets 
and  patrols  guarded  every  path.  They  could  not  hope 
to  carry  Stark  through  such  a  net- work,  and  he  could 
only  painfully  limp  and  only  occasionally  bear  a  portion 
of  his  weight  upon  that  leg.  Nor  could  they  hope  to 
remain  undiscovered  another  day.  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  be  done.  Get  word  through  the  lines  to  the 
Yankees,  and  beg  for  rescue. 

Stark  quickly  pencilled  the  message  on  tissue-paper, 
torn  from  before  a  picture  page  in  the  little  testament  he 
always  carried.  "  Major  Stark,  crippled,  Sergeant  Keat- 
ing, and  Corporal  Lawton  are  hiding  just  south  of  the 
rebel  outposts.  One  troop  of  cavalry  the  only  force 
nearer  than  Lewinsville  except  usual  reserves.  Unless 
rescued  to-night  will  surely  be  recaptured  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  bearer  can  guide.  If  possible  help."  This 
he  signed  officially  and  rolled  in  "  Solace"  tin-foil. 
"  Now,  Brennus,"  said  he,  "  crawl  past  the  rebs ;  get 
that  to  the  Lincoln  soldiers,  and  it's  your  freedom  and 
fifty  dollars  to  boot." 

We  know  the  rest. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


Far  back  along  the  wooded  shores  of  the  Potomac, 
where  the  mist  is  slowly  creeping  from  the  silent  stream, 
the  sentries  are  pacing  the  beaten  path  bounding  each 
regimental  camp.  An  odd  custom,  originating  among 
the  volunteers,  has  been  the  rule  in  several  commands. 
Each  sentry  marched  just  fifty  paces  along  his  post  in 
common  time,  then  the  cry  "  About !"  would  go  ring- 
ing from  post  to  post  in  every  conceivable  key  and 
pitch,  girdling  one  battalion  with  a  chain  of  petulant 
yelps,  another  with  a  series  of  mournful  groans.  Fun 
for  the  sentries,  and,  for  a  time,  for  the  camps,  but  a  foe 
to  soldier  repose.  The  object  was  to  cause  the  sen- 
tries to  march  in  the  same  direction,  and  thereby  pre- 
vent their  turning  their  backs  to  each  other,  in  which 
event  there  would  be  left  unwatched  a  long  stretch  of 
sentry-post  through  which  marauder  might  creep  or 
roisterer  escape.  The  custom  lasted  but  a  little  while, 
proving  more  of  a  nuisance  than  a  benefit.     But  there 

292 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD,  293 

were  three  new  regiments  in  which  it  obtained  this 
lovely  night,  and  they  are  brigaded  with  a  veteran  com- 
mand that  lords  it  over  them  because  it  has  smelled 
powder  and  shed  blood,  which  they  have  not.  It  is  a 
ragged  regiment,  a  rusty  regiment,  for  it  is  still  clad  in 
the  rehcs  of  the  gray  uniform  in  which  its  proud  State 
sent  it  to  the  field  three  months  before.  It  is  saucy, 
and  slouchy  and  independent,  individually,  as  rag 
wearers  are  apt  to  be  the  world  over.  But  it  is  won- 
derful to  see  that  regiment  brace  up  when  it  gets  in  line, 
and  that  is  what  it  has  done  this  night,  without  a  sound 
beyond  the  low-voiced  "Turn  out  here"  of  the  ser- 
geants, as  they  sped  from  tent  to  tent, — without  con- 
fusion or  even  question.  Ten  minutes  from  the  time 
the  general's  aide  has  "  routed  out''  the  colonel,  he  has 
routed  out  his  captains  and  the  sergeants  are  routing 
out  the  men.  Twenty  minutes,  and  these  silent  com- 
panies are  elbow  to  elbow  on  the  color  line  in  front  of 
camp.  The  colonel  rides  out  on  his  sure-footed  old 
charger.  His  field-officers  join  their  wings.  Such  com- 
mands as  are  given  are  in  low  voice  and  passed  down  the 
line.  "  Right  face  !  Right  shoulder  shift  arms  !  For- 
ward, march  !  Route  step  and  keep  your  mouths  shut !" 
Out  along  the  winding  road  they  go,  aide  and  colonel 
riding  in  front,  over  six  hundred  stalwart  ragamuffins 
swinging  behind.  Men  murmur  or  whisper  to  each 
other  "What's  up?"  Here  and  there  a  canteen  clinks, 
and  there  is  a  dull  sound  of  swift-moving  feet.     Out 


294  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

they  go  past  the  lines  of  their  own  sentries,  some  of 
whom  shout  for  the  corporal  and  want  to  be  "  relieved 
off  post"  and  allowed  to  go  with  their  companies.  All 
around  the  wooded  heights  south  of  Chain  Bridge  a 
dozen  other  regiments  are  placidly  sleeping.  Maine, 
Vermont,  New  York,  Indiana,  and  Wisconsin  there  are 
represented,  but  only  one  State  or  regiment  appears  in 
the  stealthily  marching  column.  On  it  goes  down  a 
winding  slope,  fde-closers  edging  in  between  the  sets  of 
fours  as  the  roadway  narrows.  Up  the  rise  beyond 
where  stand  or  squat  wondering  groups  of  the  picket 
reserves.  On^another  quarter  of  a  mile  where  they 
find  the  supports.  On  past  outposts  and  pickets,  and 
at  last,  after  a  sharp  sprint  of  a  mile,  the  word  "  Halt !" 
is  muttered,  and  the  rifle-butts  are  lowered  to  the  foot, 
and  the  regiment  stands  among  the  whispering  trees 
and  waits.  The  leading  company  has  not  long  to  won- 
der. They  hear  and  know  the  low  voice  of  their  gen- 
eral, giving  brief  directions  to  the  little  colonel.  They 
hear  the  words  "  Open  field — thin  woods  beyond. — Rebel 
pickets  lining  opposite  skirt. — Supports,  etc.,  along  the 
road.  Deploy  your  skirmish  line.  Drive  in  pickets. 
Capture  all  you  can,  but  utter  not  a  sound.  Do  not  fire 
unless  you  have  to.  Push  straight  ahead  along  this 
wood  road,  swift  as  you  can.     We  go  with  you." 

A  trembling  negro  boy  crouches  by  the  general's  stir- 
rup. Colonel  Connor's  horse  almost  treads  on  him  in 
the  dark.     The  colonel  speaks  a  quiet  word  to  the  cap- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  295 

tain  of  the  foremost  company,  and  in  low  tone  that  offi- 
cer orders,  "  'Tention,  Company  '  A !'  Load  at  will ! 
Load !"  There  is  a  sound  of  fumbling  at  heavy  car- 
tridge-boxes, of  tearing  paper,  the  whee-ep  of  the  ram- 
mers springing  from  the  pipes,  a  phosphorescent  gleam 
of  steel  as  they  whirl  in  air,  a  muttered  malediction  as 
some  fellow's  cap  is  knocked  off  by  an  awkward  neigh- 
bor. There  is  a  dull  pounding,  as  the  heavy  bullets  are 
driven  home,  a  clicking  of  gun-locks,  as  the  little  copper 
caps  are  thrust  upon  the  cones ;  then  the  low  thud  of 
the  iron-shod  butts  upon  the  ground  and  all  is  still. 
The  lieutenant-colonel  rides  back  along  the  column 
until  he  reaches  the  colors,  each  company  in  succession 
loading  as  silently.  The  left  wing  is  bidden  to  remain 
where  it  is  as  a  reserve,  and  to  await  orders.  The 
leading  company,  with  arms  trailed,  forms  line  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood.  The  second  platoon  steps  back 
three  paces  as  reserve.  The  first  receives  the  low- 
toned  command,  "  As  skirmishers,  by  the  right  and  left 
flanks  take  intervals,"  a  thing  at  which  these  Bull  Run 
veterans  have  been  drilling  since  early  in  May,  and  can 
do  in  even  thicker  darkness.  In  a  minute  the  long  line 
of  dispersed  shadows  is  formed,  facing  southwest,  and 
in  two  minutes,  with  officers  close  up  to  the  line,  the 
general  and  his  aides  only  a  few  yards  behind,  and  five 
companies  fofiowing  noiselessly  along  the  roadway,  out 
they  go  across  the  starlight  open.  Everybody  seems  to 
know  the  enemy's  sentinels  will  be  found  along  that 


296  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

opposite  skirt  of  woods.  Everybody  listens  with  strain- 
ing ears  and  thumping  heart  for  the  first  challenge. 
Those  young  Southrons  are  no  fools  on  picket,  and 
even  in  the  dark  a  cat-footed  skirmish  hne  cannot  hope 
to  crawl  upon  them  unobserved.  Half-way  across  goes 
the  long  jagged  line, — two-thirds  of  the  two  hundred 
yards  that  interpose  between  the  groves, — and  now  the 
centremost,  those  along  the  pathway,  backed  by  half  a 
dozen  fellows  from  the  reserve,  make  ready  for  a  rush. 
Ten  yards  more,  then  some  luckless  skirmisher  trips  on 
some  unseen  root,  stumbles  forward,  and  swears  under 
his  breath.  Instantly  from  the  clump  of  trees  nearest 
the  road  there  comes  the  sharp  order  "  Halt !"  and  the 
click  of  a  lock,  but  before  the  challenge  can  follow, 
there  is  a  swift  rush  of  stooping  foes  along  the  roadway, 
a  heavy  blow,  a  struggle,  a  sharp  report,  a  stifled  cry, 
then  "  Forward  !  Forward  !  double  quick  !"  everywhere 
along  the  column,  and  with  the  skirmishers  leaping  and 
crashing  ahead  through  the  timber,  tumbling  over  the 
startled  sentinels  and  pickets,  with  occasional  crackling 
of  rifle  and  shouting  of  warning  and  command,  with 
officers  darting  along  among  the  men,  with  the  general 
and  his  aides  and  Colonel  Connor  spurring  close  after, 
with  a  dozen  men  swarming  ahead  along  the  dim  path- 
way, and  with  the  sturdy  column  still  swiftly  following 
at  the  double,  the  little  command  sweeps  over  the  scat- 
tered outposts  and  reserves  in  front  of  it,  the  Southern- 
ers standing  their  ground  like  men,  but  being  utterly 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  297 

overmatched,  and  finally,  as  the  aroused  and  startled 
reserves,  farther  to  the  rear,  fall  slowly  back  toward 
their  main  body  in  the  direction  of  Falls  Church,  the 
negro  guide,  bounding  along  with  the  foremost  officers, 
leads  the  column  farther  to  the  southwest,  past  all  in- 
fantry outposts  and  reserves  until  finally  they  go  scram- 
bling over  a  snake-fence  on  the  edge  of  an  open  field, 
while  away  to  the  southeast  guns  are  firing,  bugles 
sounding  the  alarm,  drums  hoarsely  rattling,  and  here 
as  they  stop  to  breathe  and  close  up  on  the  head  of 
column,  they  are  greeted  by  the  stirring  peal  of  a  cav- 
alry trumpet  certainly  not  a  half  a  mile  away.  It  is  the 
signal  "  To  horse  !"  "  Look  out  for  those  fellows,  and 
give  'em  a  volley  if  they  approach  !"  orders  the  colonel 
to  his  panting  men.  "  Form  a  skirmish  line  fronting 
south,  captain,"  And  then,  behind  that  living  curtain, 
the  rearmost  companies  come  running  up  and  forming 
battle  line,  while  the  general,  with  a  dozen  followers, 
rides  into  a  little  grove  at  the  heels  of  their  darky  guide. 
There  is  a  moment  of  gleeful  shouting  and  out  they 
come  again,  slowly,  a  dark  cluster  of  forms,  some 
apparently  supporting  an  enfeebled  man,  others  group- 
ing about  some  shadowy  companions.  Around  these  a 
whole  company  is  rallied  as  escort  and  bidden  to  retrace 
its  steps,  and  then  the  general  rides  back,  beaming, 
under  cover  of  the  little  battle  line,  and  he  and  Connor 
shake  hands  and  listen  for  a  moment  to  the  distant  up- 
roar of  the  alarm.     And  now  the   Union   lines   have 


298  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

taken  it  up,  and  far  back  toward  the  Potomac  some  new 
arrivals,  as  yet  untried,  have  turned  loose  their  bugles 
and  drums,  and  the  general  says,  quietly,  "  Let  the 
command  fall  back  slowly,  but  keep  an  eye  open  for  the 
cavalry."  Three  minutes  more  and  Connor  has  four 
companies  back  on  the  narrow  road,  with  the  skirmish- 
ers still  out  toward  the  south,  and  then,  with  sudden 
storm  and  thunder  of  hoofs,  with  trumpets  sounding  a 
spirited  charge,  without  so  much  as  deigning  to  see 
what  force  might  be  in  front  of  them,  there  comes 
dashing  up  the  turfy  woodroad,  in  slender  column,  fol- 
lowing, fearless,  the  lead  of  a  daring  young  Virginian 
captain,  a  troop  of  yelling  horsemen,  the  very  fellows, 
doubtless,  who  for  two  days  past  have  been  scouring 
the  woods  for  our  fugitives.  "  It  is  a  mad-brained 
trick."  What  possible  object  is  to  be  gained?  All 
Ihey  know  is  that  somewhere  along  that  road  is  a  body 
of  Yankee  troops,  and  they  have  been  burning  for  a 
chance  to  get  at  them  ever  since  Bull  Run.  They  do 
not  even  seem  to  see — they  do  not  heed — the  thin  skir- 
mish line  through  which  they  bear  resistless.  The  few 
scattering  shots  fired  are  answered  by  the  wild  crackle 
of  revolvers.  On  they  come,  straight  down  the  road, 
invisible  as  yet,  but  unmistakable.  "  Halt !  Spread  out 
there,  men !"  are  Connor's  orders.  At  least  forty  or 
fifty  blue-coats  line  up  quickly  and  solidly  from  fence  to 
fence,  every  rifle  at  ready  or  aim,  and  none  too  soon. 
Five  seconds  more  and  out  from  the  fire-spitting  black- 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  299 

ness  at  the  south  looms  the  charging  column,  and  a 
blinding  glare  lights  up  the  wood,  a  crashing  volley 
wakes  the  echoes.  Half  a  dozen  horses  come  plunging, 
kicking  and  struggling,  to  the  very  feet  of  the  stern  array. 
Half  a  dozen  gallant  fellows  are  hurled  to  earth.  The 
whole  column  is  brought  up  standing,  and  then,  realizing 
the  peril  of  its  position,  breaks  and  turns  and  tears 
away,  leaving  two  dead  at  the  front  and  two  or  three 
more  wounded,  tumbling  out  of  saddle  as  they  rush 
back  for  the  rear. 

Foremost,  half  stunned  and  sorely  wounded,  but  a 
fighter  to  the  last,  the  Virginia  captain  struggles  to  his 
feet.  Bayonets  are  levelled  at  his  dauntless  heart,  but  a 
sharp  order  restrains  them.  Strong  hands  seize  and 
disarm  him.  Strong  arms  bear  him,  struggling  faintly, 
within  the  ranks  of  his  captors.  The  dead  are  left  to 
their  friends,  the  wounded  tenderly  raised  and  borne  as 
gently  as  possible  to  the  rear.  Then  once  again  the 
column  resumes  its  homeward  march,  and  in  half  an 
hour  is  safe  within  the  Union  lines. 

Meantime  where  is  Shorty,  whose  craze  it  was  to  see 
what  might  be  going  on  about  that  hamlet  of  Lewins- 
ville,  whose  longing  it  was  to  "do  something"  like  Snipe, 
and  who  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  healthful,  hearty  boy- 
hood, when  he  would  have  given  his  ears  to  be  with  that 
raiding  column?  Somewhere  about  midnight  he  be- 
came conscious  of  excited  whisperings  about  him.  Mar- 
mion  was  bustling  around.     Horses  were  being  saddled, 


300  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and,  sitting  bolt  upright,  he  heard  the  clamor  of  bugles 
and  drums,  and,  rushing  out  in  front  of  head-quarters, 
could  distinguish  the  distant  crash  of  musketry.  Then 
out  came  two  officers,  buckling  on  revolvers  and  swords. 
Marmion  came  running  with  their  horses,  and  to  Shorty's 
excited  question,  "Where's  the  general?"  he  got  the 
heartless  answer,  "  Gone  hours  ago,  youngster,  while 
you  were  asleep."  Never  stopping  to  saddle,  only  whip- 
ping through  "  Badger's"  rattling  teeth  the  bit  of  his  bridle 
and  throwing  the  reins  over  his  head,  Shorty  is  astride 
in  a  second,  and,  hardly  yet  wide  awake,  is  away  at  a 
sputtering  gallop  after  the  departing  officers.  Before 
they  have  reached  the  little  run  half  a  mile  out  he  has 
overtaken  them.  The  sound  of  skirmish  firing  is  still 
lively  at  the  distant  southwest  front.  He  knows  every 
inch  of  the  road,  and  is  mad  to  get  ahead,  for  the  officers 
ride  slowly  and  with  caution. 

"  Let  me  lead,  captain !"  he  cries,  regardless  of  mar- 
tial propriety.  "  I  know  the  way."  And  it  is  a  case  for 
common  sense,  not  ceremony,  and  the  staff-officers  say, 
"  Go  on."  And  now  there  is  a  race  through  the  night, 
"  Badger"  having  a  big  lead  and  easily  keeping  it.  But  the 
road  narrows,  the  sounds  of  fight  subside,  and  when  at 
last  the  little  party  reaches  the  outposts  they  meet  the 
left  wing  of  the  regiment  briskly  marching  homeward. 
They  see  the  light  of  a  guard-fire  in  a  hollow  a  little 
farther  to  the  front,  and  there  a  dense  throng  of  Con- 
nor's men  in  tattered  gray,  mingling  with  the  blue  of 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  301 

the  picket-guards,  groups  about  a  little  knot  of  officers 
and  three  gaunt,  ragged,  haggard  fellows,  one  a  bearded 
man  of  forty-five  or  fifty,  who   leans  heavily  on  the 
shoulder  of  a  supporter,  while  he  grasps  the  hand  of  the 
general  and  looks  gratefully  into  his  eyes.     Another  is  a 
wiry  little  specimen  in  the  relics  of  a  Fire  Zouave  jacket, 
the  chevrons  of  a  sergeant  on  his  sleeve.     The  third  is 
a  tall,  lank,  long-legged  youth,  with  hollow  cheeks  and 
big  brown  eyes,  and  a  brownish  fuzz  just  sprouting  on 
lip  and  cheeks  and  chin,— a  tall  lad  to  whom  the  elder 
man  turns  suddenly,  laying  a  thin  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der, a  tall  lad  who  looks  up  shyly  and  silently  as  the 
general  grasps  his  hands  and  begins  some  words  of 
hearty  praise.     But  the  general's  remarks  are  brought 
to  sudden  stop   by  the  impetuous  rush  of  a  snorting 
horse  into  the  midst  of  the  group,  the  precipitate  leap 
of  a  half-crazed  lad  from  his  back  to  the  ground,  and  the 
general's  voice  is  drowned  by  that  of  his  graceless  or- 
derly, half  squeal,  half  choking  cry,  as  the  "  little  'un" 
springs  upon  the  tall  youth,  twining  legs  and  arms,  both, 
about  him,  and  the  only  intelligible  word   he  says  is 
"  Snipe  !"     The  only  answer  is  a  long,  straining  hug  and 
the  almost  bashful  murmur,  "  Shorty !" 

One  would  say  that  in  that  meeting  there  was  interest 
sufficient  for  one  night— and  two  boys,— but  it  was  by  no 
means  all.  A  few  minutes  later  two  trooper  prisoners, 
led  in  beside  the  litter  of  their  wounded  captain,  were 
being  examined  by  the  general.     Both  were  silent,  badly 


302  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

shaken  by  the  fall  of  their  horses.  One  was  slightly- 
wounded ;  neither  wished  to  talk.  The  leader  had 
swooned,  and  the  surgeons  were  doing  their  best  for 
him. 

"  What  is  your  captain's  name  ?"  was  asked  the  unhurt 
cavalier,  a  dashing  young  sergeant  who  might  well  lay 
claim  to  being  of  one  of  the  famous  "  first  famihes  of  Vir- 
ginia"— a  dandy  trooper. 

"  Grayson,"  was  the  short  reply. 

Major  Stark  and  Snipe  glanced  quickly  at  each  other, 
and  then  the  former  spoke.  "  Pardon  me,  general ;  that 
was  the  name  of  the  cavalry  lieutenant  captured  by  Cor- 
poral Lawton,  here,  just  before  Bull  Run.  Is  this  another 
Grayson  ?"  he  asked  of  the  prisoner. 

"  No.  You  asked  our  captain's  name.  He  was 
wounded  and  has  not  rejoined  yet.  That's  our  first 
heutenant."  And  then,  as  though  to  emphasize  his  dis- 
gust at  being  bored  by  "  mudsill"  questions,  the  young 
gallant  languidly  yawned  ;  then,  thrusting  his  hand  into 
the  breast  of  his  jaunty  trooper  jacket,  with  admirable 
assumption  of  supreme  indifference  to  his  surroundings, 
he  drew  forth  a  fine  watch,  coolly  stepped  to  the  fire, 
held  it  so  that  the  light  would  shine  upon  its  face,  and 
then  was  about  returning  it,  when  the  irrepressible 
Shorty  sprang  forward  into  the  fire-lit  circle. 

"  Where'd  you  get  that  watch  ?"  he  cried.  "  Look, 
Snipe  !  General !  It  was  stolen  at  school  last  fall !  It's 
Joy's !" 


W'liciv'cl  \(ai  lift  tliiit  watch' 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  week  that  followed  was  one  not  soon  to  be  for- 
gotten by  two  at  least  of  Pop's  old  boys.  To  begin 
with,  after  all  the  wear  and  tear  and  exposure  of  the 
month,  it  was  several  days  before  Major  Stark,  with  his 
gallant  companions,  was  able  to  go  into  Washington. 
He  lay  in  a  big  tent  close  to  brigade  head-quarters,  the 
guest  of  the  general  and  the  object  of  assiduous  atten- 
tions from  high  officials,  accomplished  surgeons,  and 
enthusiastic  soldiers.  Snipe  and  Keating  coming  in  for 
many  a  word  of  praise  and  promise  of  advancement  and 
reward.  Even  the  great  President,  accompanied  by 
Secretary  Seward,  drove  out  in  his  carriage  and  visited 
the  invalid  New-Englander  and  listened  to  his  story, 
and  sent  for  Sergeant  Keating  and  the  "two  boys."  He 
wanted  to  see  that  queerly  assorted  team,  said  he,  and 
whimsically  remarked,  after  looking  them  over,  with  a 
smile  for  both  and  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  "  Well, 

803 


304  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  you're  both  bound  to  be  sol- 
diers, I  see.     Perhaps  we  can  help." 

Keating,  promptly  commissioned  a  lieutenant  in  the 
Second  Fire  Zouaves,  was  ordered  to  join  that  com- 
mand. Stark,  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  move  with 
comfort,  was  to  go  home  and  accept  the  colonelcy  of  a 
new  regiment  awaiting  him  in  its  camp,  Snipe  with  him. 
But  meantime  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Park  had  reached  the  capi- 
tal, and  had  been  driven  out  to  Chain  Bridge,  where  the 
fond  mother  had  a  very  warm  reception  from  all  who 
by  this  time  had  heard  Snipe's  school  story  (and  who 
that  got  within  hail  of  Shorty  any  day  that  week  had 
failed  to  hear  it?)  and  the  grim  step-father  a  correspond- 
ingly cool  one.  Park  had  borne  more  than  his  share 
of  worry  and  woe  for  long  months  past,  and  as  means 
to  the  end,  had  come  with  the  cool  determination  of 
making  George  an  offer,  either  to  put  him  through  col- 
lege with  a  fair  allowance,  or  start  him  in  business  at 
Rhinebeck,  for  Park  had  been  in  correspondence  with 
the  Doctor  and  with  Halsey,  and  had  reluctantly  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  boy  couldn't  have  been  the 
thief  he  thought,  though  of  course  he  was  an  ingrate 
and  lacking  in  appreciation.  But  Park  found  that 
step-parental  authority  was  not  recognized  in  the  army. 
The  boy  himself  was  bent  on  following  the  fortunes 
of  his  soldier  friends.  Major  Stark  had  told  the  mother 
of  his  own  plans  and  the  President's  promises  with 
regard  to  her  son,  and  the  fond  mother,  proud,  yet 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  395 

full  of  fears,  yielded  to  the  wishes  of  her  boy  and  the 
advice  of  his  comrades,  and  decided  against  those  of 
her  lord  and  master.  Park  found  the  atmosphere  of 
the  camp  uncongenial.  It  chilled  him  like  a  channel 
fog,  and  he  left  for  home,  and  pressing  business,  within 
another  day,  while  Mrs.  Park  remained.  There  were 
other  sympathetic  women  there,  wives  of  officers  visit- 
ing in  camp,  and  she  did  not  lack  for  friends. 

But  for  Snipe  and  Shorty  there  came  a  day  of  thrill- 
ing interest  when  Captain  Beach,  of  the  "  First  Long 
Island,"  together  with  Keating  and  Desmond,  of  the 
Zouaves,  met  at  the  provost-marshal's  in  Washington, 
and  what  a  meeting  it  was !  The  story  of  the  school- 
boy days  had  been  told  the  general,  who  listened  with 
vivid  interest.  It  was  he  who  planned  further  move- 
ments and  arranged  the  necessary  preliminaries  at  the 
War  Department.  Among  the  few  Confederate  pris- 
oners in  the  city  at  the  time  were  young  Grayson,  cap- 
tured as  a  lieutenant  just  before  Bull  Run,  and  Spotts- 
wood,  captured  as  sergeant  the  night  of  the  rescue  in 
front  of  Chain  Bridge,  both  of  the  Virginia  cavalry.  The 
latter  had  wrathfully  declined  to  surrender  the  watch 
claimed  by  Shorty  to  be  stolen  property  (those  were 
the  earliest — the  callow — days  of  the  war,  when  the 
wishes  of  prisoners  as  to  their  personal  property  were 
occasionally  respected),  and  a  tremendous  scene  had  en- 
sued. But  within  three  days  there  appeared  at  Wash- 
ington two  young  gentlemen.  Pop's  boys,  sent  thither  in 

20 


306  ^^OM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

response  to  telegraphic  inquiries, — Messrs.  Paul  Grayson 
and  Clinton  Joy, — and  they  had  been  taken  to  the  Capitol 
prison  by  Captain  Winthrop,  a  former  Pop  boy,  and 
there  had  been  an  interview  between  the  cousins.  North- 
ern and  Southern ;  then,  a  conference  between  Grayson 
the  Confederate  and  his  bumptious  statesman,  and  then 
Mr.  Spottswood  very  gracefully  surrendered  the  watch, 
which  Mr.  Joy  positively  and  conclusively  identified  as 
his  own,  notwithstanding  the  obliteration  of  the  name, 
and  Spottswood  told  how  it  came  into  his  possession. 
He  had  spent  some  time  the  previous  winter  and  spring 
in  Mobile,  Savannah,  and  Charleston,  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  two  young — gentlemen — and  he  used  the  word 
with  hesitation — from  New  York,  two  brothers  by  the 
name  of  Hulker.  There  had  grown  up  something  of  an 
intimacy.  They  had  money  in  abundance  at  first,  but 
finally  seemed  to  run  out,  and  they  had  to  "  baw-wo," 
said  Mr.  Spottswood,  with  a  blush,  from  their  friends. 
In  fact,  they  had  "  baw-woed"  so  much  from  friends  to 
whom  he  had  presented  them  that  he  felt  in  honor 
bound  to  make  it  good,  and  as  the  young  men  had  to  get 
out  of  the  South  in  a  hurry  in  May,  and  he  had  become 
suspicious  as  to  their  solvency,  he  had  felt  compelled,  he 
said  it  regretfully,  to  demand  some  security,  and  they 
had  left  with  him  diamonds  and  this  watch.  The  dia- 
monds were  at  his  home  in  Richmond.  The  watch  he 
unhesitatingly  turned  over,  as  became  a  gentleman,  to 
its  proper  owner.     When  Lieutenant  Grayson  was  told 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO  BATTLE-FIELD.  307 

that  all  this  was  necessary  to  clear  the  good  name  of  the 
young  scholar  soldier  who  had  captured  him,  you  can 
imagine  his  interest  in  the  case  was  by  no  means  dimin- 
ished. 

This  matter  settled,  and  a  joyous  meeting  having 
taken  place  between  the  four  school-mates.  Captains 
Beach  and  Winthrop,  brother  officers  now  and  ex-Co- 
lumbiads,  affably  supervising,  the  next  thing  was  to  fol- 
low up  the  trail  of  Desmond's  statements  to  Shorty,  and 
this  duty  was  intrusted  to  Keating.  An  odd  feature 
with  the  old  fire  department  was  the  alliance,  offensive 
and  defensive,  which  existed  among  certain  companies, 
in  contradistinction  to  the  bitter  rivalries  which  were 
inevitable.  In  the  long-continued  feud  between  Big  Six 
and  Manhattan  Eight  whole  communities  were  involved. 
Political  societies  and  clubs  took  sides  with  one  or  the 
other,  and  rows  innumerable  went  on  for  years.  Down- 
town companies,  generally  at  odds  with  their  neighbors, 
swore  eternal  friendship  with  some  up-town  organization 
which  "  ran"  in  lower  districts.  Marion  9  and  Lady 
Washington  40  "  lay"  within  three  blocks  of  each  other 
in  the  lower  Fifth  Fire  District,  but  did  duty,  the  for- 
mer in  the  Fourth  and  Fifth,  the  latter  in  the  Sixth  and 
Seventh ;  turning  out,  of  course,  for  all  fires  within  a 
few  blocks  of  their  respective  stations ;  and  these  two 
companies  were  on  terms  of  very  distant  and  dignified 
reserve.  Away  up-town,  in  like  manner,  w^ere  Lexington 
7  and  Pacific  28,  both  of  which  answered  alarms  from 


308  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

the  Fifth  District,  both  of  which  ran  clown  Third  Avenue 
to  the  Bowery  in  so  doing,  and  as  a  consequence,  time 
and  again  met  and  raced  every  inch  of  the  way.  The 
long  run  from  Twenty-seventh  Street  to  the  Cooper 
Institute  or  beyond  would  almost  exhaust  their  own 
men,  but  by  the  time  they  got  far  down-town  there  were 
swarms  of  allies  to  man  the  drag-ropes,  9's  men  with 
No.  7,  40's  lively  lads  with  28,  and,  counting  on  this  old 
alUance,  Keating  called  on  Desmond  to  redeem  his  prom- 
ise to  Shorty  and  tell  what  he  knew  about  the  school  or 
its  scholars,  and  Desmond's  story  was  what  boys  of  a 
later  generation  would  have  called  "  a  corker." 

He  used  to  be  hard  up  himself,  he  said,  and  more 
than  once  had  had  to  "  spout"  his  watch,  and  several 
times  in  other  ways  to  raise  money  at  a  pawnbroker's, 
and  there  were  some  young  fellows,  whom  he  had  twice 
encountered  there,  regular  young  Fifth  Avenue  swells, 
and  one  night  while  he  was  in  a  stall  at  the  counter,  he 
heard  two  of  them  come  into  an  adjoining  box,  and  they 
had  a  beautiful  gold  watch  on  which  they  wished  to 
make  a  raise.  He  could  not  see  it  even  by  leaning  away 
forward,  for  the  partition  prevented,  but  he  could  hear 
distinctly  all  the  talk.  The  pawnbroker  didn't  want  to 
take  it.  He  said  he  was  afraid.  He  knew  both  the 
"  young  fellers ;"  they'd  often  been  there  before,  and 
he  knew  that  watch  didn't  belong  to  either  of  the  two. 
They  swore,  however,  that  it  belonged  to  a  friend  in  their 
set  who  didn't  wish  to  be  known,  but  had   to   have 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  309 

money  that  very  night,  and,  "  why,  that  watch  must 
have  been  worth  over  three  hundred  dollars  !"  It  was 
a  beautiful  thing,  they  said,  and  all  they  ^vanted  was 
fifty ;  their  friend  would  redeem  it  the  very  next  week 
and  pay  high.  They  were  so  earnest  about  it  that  Des- 
mond forgot  his  own  troubles  in  listening  to  theirs.  At 
last  they  got  some  thirty  or  forty  dollars  and  left  in  a 
hurry.  Desmond  looked  after  them.  Both  w^ore  fur 
caps  pulled  down  over  their  ears,  and  coat-collars  up 
almost  hiding  their  heads,  although  it  was  quite  early  in 
the  fall,  and,  though  a  raw  east  wind  was  blowing  and  a 
rain  pouring,  it  was  not  cold  enough  for  such  attire. 
Outside  the  shop  they  were  joined  by  others  who  were 
in  waiting,  three  of  them,  and  they  scooted  back  toward 
the  w^est  in  a  hurry.  Not  two  months  afterwards  Des- 
mond was  there  again,  and  a  big,  smooth-faced,  smug- 
looking  fellow  came  in,  with  his  head  all  bundled  up, 
and  he  had  the  pawn  ticket  for  that  very  watch,  Des- 
mond knew  by  the  talk ;  and  the  paw^nbroker  had  some 
words  with  the  fellow  because  he  tried  to  get  it  back  for 
less  by  a  good  deal  than  the  young  men  agreed  to  pay, 
and  both  got  mad  and  abused  each  other,  and  each 
said  he  could  send  the  other  to  jail.  It  was  fun  to  hear 
them,  said  Desmond,  and  he  wondered  who  the  big  man 
could  be,  and  followed  him  out  and  saw  him  meet  the 
same  two  "  young  fellers"  that  were  there  before.  The 
big  man  took  off  his  hat  and  wnped  his  face,  he  was 
"  so  blown  with  jawing,"  and  Desmond  said  he  had  a 


310  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

good  long  look  at  him,  and  would  know  him  again 
anywhere. 

Now  he  was  sure  he  had  seen  some  of  those  young 
fellers  with  the  school  crowd  that  used  to  be  up  at  Dun- 
can's every  day  for  luncheon,  and  in  the  "  Shanghai" 
set  that  ran  with  Metamora  Hose.  But  from  that  time 
they  quit  going  to  that  pawnshop.  The  owner  told  him 
the  police  came  round  there  looking  for  that  very  watch, 
and  he  was  glad  he  was  rid  of  them,  and  of  that  "  big, 
smug-faced  feller,"  too.  He  felt  sure  he  was  a  thief. 
As  for  the  boys,  the  broker  said  two  of  them  had  been 
there  time  and  again  before,  and  they  were  a  hard  lot. 
"Would  you  know  the  two  if  you  were  to  see  them 
again  ?"  Keating  asked  the  Zouave. 

"I  didn't  see  them,  plainly.  I  couldn't,  they  were 
wrapped  up  so,  but  I  could  hear  them  plain,  and  I'd 
know  their  voices  among  a  million." 

All  this  having  been  duly  reported,  and  Beach,  Win- 
throp,  and  one  or  two  senior  officers  having  been  in 
consultation,  this  strange  meeting  was  decided  upon, 
and,  not  knowing  why  they  were  bidden,  Snipe  and 
Shorty  found  themselves  one  bright  September  morning 
in  the  anteroom  of  the  provost-marshal's  office.  Beach 
and  Winthrop  were  already  there.  It  was  just  one 
week  after  the  arrest  of  the  general's  orderly  by  the 
patrol  and  his  incarceration  by  order  of  the  heutenant 
of  the  guard.  There  was  a  moment  of  greeting  and 
quiet  chat.     Then  the  boys  were  shown  into  a  side  room, 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  ^H 

and  there  sat  Keating  and  Desmond.  Beach  called  to 
the  latter.  "  I  wish  you  to  sit  here  with  me  close  to  the 
door  and  listen  to  every  word  spoken  in  the  office  during 
the  next  five  minutes."  Then  he,  too,  seated  himself. 
There  was  silence  a  moment  or  two,  then  a  low-toned 
conference  between  the  provost-marshal  and  Winthrop, 
and  presently  a  door  opened,  a  somewhat  unsteady, 
clinking  step  was  heard,  and  then  a  voice,  at  sound  of 
which  Snipe  and  Shorty  started  and  looked  into  each 
other's  faces,  while  Beach  sat  watching  Desmond. 

"Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir?" 

The  speaker  Avas  invisible,  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  voice,  with  its  odd,  jerky,  nervous  accent. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  been  called  upon  to  explain  why 
the  guard  held  a  bearer  of  despatches  and  an  important 
message  last  week.  You  were  officer  of  the  guard  at 
the  time.     What  have  you  to  say  ?" 

"  Why — major — I  don't  know  much  about  it.  The 
men  said  they  ordered  him  to  stop  all  the  way  for  half 
a  mile,  and  he  defied  'em.  He — was  all  covered  with 
dirt  and  looked  like  some  common  volunteer  drummer- 
boy  out  on  a  drunk.  I  didn't  suppose  any  general 
would  trust  despatches  to — anybody  like  that.  I 
thought  he  was  lyin'." 

"  In  point  of  fact,  sir,"  interposed  the  provost-mar- 
shal, "  did  you  not  recognize  the  messenger  and  have 
reason  to  know  that  his  story  was  true  ?  Did  you  not 
order  him  to  the  cells,  refusing  to  Hsten  ?" 


312  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

"  P'r'aps  I  did,  and  just  because  I  did  know  him  to  be 
a  no-account  little  ragamuffin  that  used  to  be  runnin' 
round  with  the  firemen  and  such  like " 

Sir  Toby  Belch  listening  from  ambush  to  Malvolio's 
soliloquy  at  his  expense  could  not  have  looked  more 
amazed  and  wrathful  than  did  Shorty  at  this.  Beach, 
unable  to  repress  a  grin,  suppressed  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  You  may  retire,  Mr.  Hoover.  Remain  at  the  guard- 
room.    I  may  want  you  in  a  moment," 

And  then  the  party  was  summoned  from  its  conceal- 
ment, and  then  all  eyes  were  on  Desmond,  and  Win- 
throp  propounded  this  question : 

"  Well,  did  you  recognize  any  voice  ?" 

"That  young  feller's — that  was  in  here  just  now?  I 
couldn't  see  him  through  the  screen,  but  I  never  heard 
his  voice  before  in  all  me  life." 

And  this  ended  the  first  lesson.  But  there  were 
others  to  come,  for  the  Doctor  and  Beach  had  been  in 
rapid  correspondence,  and  when  three  days  later  still 
Major  Stark,  a  celebrity  now  whom  Gotham  was  eager 
to  honor,  arrived  at  the  Cortlandt  Street  ferry,  faithful 
Snipe  still  at  his  side,  and  Lieutenant  Keating,  fur- 
loughed  that  he,  too,  might  be  lionized,  there  accompa- 
nied them  the  little  corporal  of  Zouaves,  Desmond,  late 
of  "  28's  Engine." 

Aunt  Lawrence,  with  her  carriage,  was  at  the  ferry, 
effusive  in  her  regrets  that  Colonel  Stark  had  to  go  on 
at  once,  but  grateful  that  he  could  permit  George  to  re- 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  313 

main,  for  nothing  would  answer  but  that  dear,  brave 
George  must  spend  a  few  days  under  her  roof  before 
reporting  at  the  camp  of  his  new  regiment.  And  with 
Aunt  Lawrence,  obsequious,  smug,  assiduous  in  his 
attentions  to  Mahster  George,  loading  up  with  Mahster 
George's  light  luggage,  and  bowing  low  in  homage  to 
Mahster  George's  distinguished  commander,  as  that  gal- 
lant officer  was  driven  away,  was  Aunt  Lawrence's  most 
expensive  household  luxury,  the  English  butler,  and  as 
that  dignitary  closed  the  door  of  the  Lawrence  carriage 
and  lifted  his  hat  and  wiped  his  glowing  face,  and  then 
waddled  pompously  off  in  quest  of  a  horse-car,  Desmond 
grabbed  his  officer  by  the  arm.  "  There's  the  Shanghai 
that  got  the  watch  and  jawed  the  pawnbroker  and  ran 
with  that  gang  of  young  fellers,"  said  he.  And  only  an- 
other day  and  Aunt  Lawrence's  butler  marched  away 
an  the  grip  of  the  law,  and  Aunt  Lawrence's  house-maid 
lay  screaming  in  simulated  hysterics. 

A  precious  pair  were  these,  as  events  and  detectives 
speedily  disclosed,  and  words  can  hardly  describe  the 
shame  and  horror  with  which  Aunt  Lawrence  presently 
realized  that,  to  divert  suspicion  from  themselves,  her 
own  domestics  had  found  means  of  attaching  it  to  George. 
Their  stealings  had  as  yet  been  confined  to  old-fashioned 
trinkets  and  jewelry,  which  she  seldom  looked  at  and 
the  loss  of  which  would  not  soon  be  discovered.  It 
was  not  the  jewels,  but  the  good  name  the  servitor  had 
stolen,  that  now  arrayed  all  the  household  against  him 


314  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  his  unhappy  victim,  the  damsel  who  so  neglected 
George's  room  and  linen.  Binny,  the  butler,  went  to 
the  police  station  without  a  chance  to  caution  her,  so 
she  went  to  the  priest,  and  one  confession  led  to  an- 
other. The  girl  was  Irish  and  had  a  conscience  or  com- 
punctions, and  returning  to  her  mistress,  threw  herself 
at  her  feet,  and  sobbed  out  her  story.  Binny  had  her 
completely  in  his  power,  or  made  her  think  he  had.  It 
was  he  who  compelled  her  to  take  the  cameo  and  other 
jewelry  from  time  to  time,  and  who  planned  more  ex- 
tensive raids  to  follow.  It  was  he  to  whom  she  surren- 
dered Seymour's  gold  pencil-case,  which  she  found  on 
the  floor  of  Mahster  George's  room,  but  stoutly  she  de- 
clared, when  questioned  by  Mrs.  Lawrence,  that  of  Joy's 
beautiful  watch  she  had  never  even  heard. 

And  this  was  more  than  Binny  could  say  when  con- 
fronted by  Desmond,  the  pawnbroker,  and  certain  mem- 
bers of  the  police  force  who  had  had  an  eye  on  him, 
especially  when  within  twenty-four  hours  of  his  incar- 
ceration there  was  landed  in  the  neighboring  cell  the 
person  of  Mr.  Briggs,  late  of  the  First  Latin,  but  no  longer 
on  the  rolls  of  Columbia.  Others,  long  since  fathomed  as 
to  character  by  Pop,  were  under  the  watchful  eye  of"  the 
force,"  and  Messrs.  Brodrick  and  the  Hulkers,  both,  be- 
took themselves  to  summer  resorts,  despite  the  fact  that 
the  tide  of  fashion  was  turning  back  from  the  sea-shore 
and  the  mountains.  Then  Briggs  the  elder,  a  broken- 
down  politician  and  former  office-holder,  was  sent  for 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  315 

and  closeted  with  the  Doctor,  Halsey,  Hoover  senior, 
Martigny,  and  the  detective,  with  the  result  that  within 
an  hour  Briggs  junior  was  summoned  into  the  presence 
of  the  same  tribunal,  and  then  his  last  remaining  trace 
of  nerve  gave  way. 

Even  then  he  lied,  shifted,  dodged,  accused,  but  one 
after  another  his  lies  were  met  and  overthrown,  and  at 
last  the  miserable  story  came  out  in  driblets,  but  the 
chain  was  complete.  To  raise  small  sums  he  had  begun 
selling  books,  sometimes  from  his  father's  scant  stock, 
then  from  other  boys'  fathers.  Binny,  on  some  similar 
errand  bent,  had  twice  encountered  him  and  recognized 
him  as  the  young  "  fellar"  that  used  to  come  to  see 
Mahster  George,  and  bolt  up  to  his  room  even  when  the 
lad  was  out.  Binny  found  that  discovery  worth  work- 
ing. He  gave  Briggs  a  bracelet,  once  worn  by  "  me 
sainted  wife,  now  in  'eaven,"  but  Binny  said  he  was  in 
need  of  funds  and  must  dispose  of  it,  and  wouldn't 
mind  giving  Mahster  Briggs  something  "  'ansom'"  out  of 
what  he  could  get  for  it.  Then  Binny  had  Briggs  "  by 
the  hair,"  so  to  speak,  and  held  him  for  future  service. 
Hoover,  too,  and  the  Hulkers,  had  used  him  as  a  cat's- 
paw.  They  loaned  him  money,  and  then  when  he  could 
not  repay,  demanded  service  in  kind.  Then  the  Hulkers 
themselves  were  emboldened  to  try  their  luck  at  the 
pawnbroker's,  and  by  going  only  at  night — and  generally 
stormy  nights — they  managed  to  keep  their  identity  con^ 
cealed.     Briggs  was  dreadfully  in  debt  to  both  Hoover 


310  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

and  the  Hulkers  when  one  day  in  the  early  fall  the  First 
Latin  indulged  in  one  of  its  famous  charges.  Briggs, 
crushed  against  the  bookcase,  and  making  as  much 
noise  as  anybody,  was  one  of  the  last  to  quit  the  spot. 
Joy's  beautiful  watch  caught  his  eye,  dangling  at  the 
end  of  its  chain,  as  the  class  was  disentangling,  and  a 
quick  jerk  transferred  it  to  his  capacious  pocket.  He 
swore  he  never  meant  to  keep  it.  He  only  wanted  to 
"  have  some  fun  with  Joy,"  and  to  prove  it,  he  said,  he 
ran  round  to  Brodrick's  stable  and  told  him  and  the 
Hulkers  all  about  it,  and  left  it  with  the  Hulkers  for  safe- 
keeping, and  that  night  they  pawned  it.  He  didn't  dare 
report  it,  for  they  could  tell  far  worse  things  about  him 
than  he  could  about  them,  but  all  were  scared  when 
they  heard  of  the  Doctor's  vigorous  measures,  and  not 
daring  to  return  for  it  themselves,  Briggs  bethought  him 
of  Binny,  and  between  them  they  raised  the  money 
necessary  to  redeem  it  and  sent  him,  Binny,  as  their 
emissary.  Then  the  Hulkers  hid  it  somewhere,  and  the 
next  thing  Briggs  knew  Binny,  and  the  Hulkers,  too, 
were  demanding  tribute  of  him.  Briggs  vowed  he  was 
horrified  when  he  found  that  Snipe  was  suspected  and 
accused ;  he  always  liked  Snipe,  Hoover  wouldn't  lend 
him  another  cent,  and  he  was  at  his  wit's  end  where  to 
raise  the  money  to  meet  their  demands  and  forestall  the 
threatened  exposure,  when  quarter  day  and  the  fire 
came.  He  saw  his  opportunity  when  Halsey  left  the 
desk  unguarded,  and  ran  and  scooped  some  gold  out  of 


FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  317 

the  drawer,  poked  some  of  the  pieces  hi  his  trousers, 
some  in  his  waistcoat,  and  some  in  his  overcoat-pocket 
when  at  the  rack.  If  he  poked  any  in  Shorty's,  which 
hung  next  to  his,  it  was  all  a  mistake.  He  wouldn't 
have  done  that  for  the  world,  he  said,  and  then,  as  he 
daren't  be  found  with  the  money,  he  gave  most  of  it  to 
the  Hulkers,  as  before,  "  for  safe-keeping"  and  to  square 
accounts,  and  that  was  about  all  poor  Briggs's  inquisitors 
cared  to  know.  A  warrant  went  out  for  Brodrick,  who 
managed  to  precede  it  to  Montreal,  but  the  Hulkers 
were  quietly  apprehended  and  escorted  back  to  Gotham. 
And  here  ended  the  last  of  the  cabal  against  Snipe.  Now 
came  the  reaction. 

One  glorious  day  in  late  September  the  old  First 
Latin  reassembled  in  strong  force  at  the  old  school,  the 
occasion  being  a  flag-raising.  There  they  were,  the 
same  glad-hearted  lot  of  boys  that  had  made  merry  in 
the  old  school-room  many  and  many  a  day,  Hoover  and 
Briggs  being  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  "  Regimental 
duties,"  wrote  the  father  of  the  former,  would  prevent 
his  son's  attendance  on  the  auspicious  occasion,  whereat 
the  Doctor  winked  over  his  spectacles  at  the  grinning 
array  of  listeners,  and  "other  engagements,"  it  was 
casually  mentioned,  would  account  for  the  non-appear- 
ance of  Briggs.  At  the  usual  hour  of  recess  the  whole 
school.  Classical  and  English  departments  both,  had 
clustered  about  tAvo  young  fellows  in  martial  uniform. 
Snipe  Lawton,  brown-eyed,  blushing  and  shy,  towering 


318  FROM   SCHOOL   TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

over  most  of  them  in  stature,  arrayed  in  the  trim-fitting 
frock-coat  and  complete  uniform  of  a  first  lieutenant  of 
infantry,  and  Shorty,  full  to  the  brim  of  mingled  pride 
and  delight,  wearing  the  garb  of  the  famous  Zouave 
regiment  to  which  he  had  been  attached,  even  while 
being,  by  order,  as  he  not  infrequently  remarked,  on 
detached  duty  at  brigade  head-quarters.  This  was 
emphatically  Snipe's  benefit,  however,  and  no  one  be- 
grudged it  to  him  less  than  did  his  old  chum.  A  little 
after  noon  a  burst  of  martial  music  was  heard  far  up  the 
avenue,  and  the  majestic  Doctor  waved  his  thronging 
boys  to  their  posts,  and  down  the  stairs  they  tumbled, 
tumultuous,  and  "  lined  up,"  six  deep,  on  the  opposite 
curb.  And  then,  led  by  a  capital  band,  a  great  regiment 
in  full  marching  order,  with  knapsacks  packed  and 
overcoats  rolled,  came  striding  down  the  west  side  of 
the  broad  thoroughfare  in  column  of  fours,  and  a  sol- 
dierly looking  colonel  reined  out  as  they  reached  the 
school,  and  let  the  right  wing,  five  strong  companies,  go 
swinging  by  until  the  beautiful  silken  colors,  national 
and  State,  were  directly  opposite  the  window,  where  in 
immaculate  broadcloth  and  immense  dignity  stood  the 
Doctor,  a  brand-new  bunting  flag  on  his  arm,  Snipe,  with 
the  "  down  haul"  halliard  on  his  right,  Shorty,  with  the 
slack,  on  his  left.  Then  the  colonel's  powerful  voice 
rang  out  along  the  thronging  street,  "  Battalio-o-n-n-n 
halt !  Front !"  and  the  whole  regiment,  at  least  a  thou- 
sand strong,  stood  motionless  facing  the  east.     Then  the 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  319 

band  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  right  centre  company, 
and  at  a  signal,  struck  up  the  grand  strains  of  the  "  Star- 
Spangled  Banner."  "  Present  arms  !"  shouted  Colonel 
Stark,  then  reined  his  horse  about  and  lowered  his 
glistening  sword  in  salute.  The  school  and  the  great 
crowd  set  up  a  stupendous  cheer.  The  Doctor  beamed 
and  waved  his  white  cambric  handkerchief.  Halsey  and 
Meeker  and  other  masters  smiled  from  the  windows. 
Snipe  hauled  away  with  might  and  main,  Shorty  paid 
out,  and  the  beautiful  folds  of  blue  and  scarlet  and  daz- 
zling white  went  sailing  slowly  aloft  until  they  touched 
the  peak  of  the  tall  white  staff  at  the  top  of  the  building. 
Then  the  Doctor  shook  hands  with  Snipe  again  and  again 
and  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  waved  to  the  crowd 
as  though  he  would  say  "  Cheer  for  Lawton,"  and  cheer 
they  did,  and  presently  that  cheer  swelled  into  a  lusty- 
lunged  roar,  for  the  colonel  gave  the  command  shoulder 
and  order  arms,  magnificently  executed,  followed  by 
"  Rest !"  which  gave  the  regiment  leave  to  make  itself 
heard,  and  never  before  had  Fourth  Avenue  rung  to 
such  acclaim. 

Then  Snipe  shook  hands  with  his  old  teachers  again, 
poor,  pallid  Meeker's  eyes  filling  with  tears,  and  with 
John,  the  janitor,  who  grinned  and  writhed  in  ecstasy. 
Then  he  and  Shorty  came  bounding  down  the  stairs, 
and  another  shout  went  up  from  the  school,  and  some- 
thing like  a  sob  rose  in  Shorty's  throat  as  Lawton  drew 
for  the  first  time  his  beautiful  sword,  the  gift  of  all  the 


320  FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

classes,  and,  throwing  his  left  arm  about  the  "  little  'un's" 
neck,  held  him  in  close  hug  one  second,  then  bounded 
away  to  the  post  of  the  adjutant,  his  eyes  too  full  to  look 
back,  his  heart  too  full  to  speak.  Once  more  the  great 
regiment  sprang  into  column  of  fours,  the  arms  snapped 
up  to  the  right  shoulder,  the  band  broke  into  a  magnifi- 
cent swinging  quickstep,  and  the  Fourth  New  England 
strode  sturdily  away  to  make  its  mark  on  many  a  field, 
its  boy  adjutant  marching  at  the  head  of  column.  Many 
a  long  block  it  went  before  the  last  of  Pop's  boys  dropped 
off  and  turned  back,  only  to  find  that  half-holiday  had 
been  declared  in  honor  of  the  event  of  the  day.  Snipe 
and  Shorty,  big  Damon  and  little  Pythias,  Mr.  Lincoln's 
"  long  and  short  of  it,"  had  seen  the  last  of  the  old  school 
and  school-days,  with  all  their  fun  and  frolic  and  their 
sad  and  solemn  memories.  The  old  First  Latin  went 
on  to  collegiate  days  minus  its  soldier  boys  and  the  little 
lamented  Briggs.  After  all,  there  was  aroused  a  bit  of 
sympathy  for  him  when  the  Hulkers  were  bought  off  in 
some  mysterious  way  and  never  appeared  for  trial,  when 
Brodrick  was  heard  of  as  "  living  high"  in  Canada,  and 
only  the  detestable  butler  was  left  to  share  the  punish- 
ment with  the  rapscallion  of  the  class.  Some  boys 
thought  Hoover  was  so  low  that  "  even  if  he  didn't  steal 
he  put  Briggs  up  to  it,"  and  the  school  was  furious  at 
the  thought  of  his  being  an  officer  in  the  regular  army. 

It  did  poor  Hoover  little  good,  however.     His  regi- 
ment was  soon  taken  from  the  comforts  of  Washington 


FROM   SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD.  321 

and  sent  campaigning,  and  three  days'  marching  through 
Virginia  dust  proved  more  than  the  poor  fellow  could 
stand.  He  broke  down  on  the  eve  of  battle,  had  to  be 
sent  to  the  rear  in  an  ambulance,  and  the  regiment  said 
he  would  be  wise  to  resign :  so  for  once  wisdom  and 
Hoover  worked  together.  John,  the  janitor,  lived  to  tell 
many  a  wonderful  tale  of  the  times  they  had  when  the 
First  Latin  had  such  "  fellers"  in  it  as  Lawton  and  Joy, 
Bertram  and  Beekman,  Julian  and  Prime.  Meeker  got 
a  new  lease  of  life  with  the  going  out  of  the  old  class 
and  the  coming  in  of  the  new,  for  the  Doctor  did  not 
spoil  these  latter  as  he  had  their  predecessors,  and  the 
Doctor  treated  him  with  a  consideration  that  had  been 
lacking  a  long  time,  for  there  were  days  in  the  past  when 
Meeker's  poverty  and  troubles,  coupled  with  other  cir- 
cumstantial evidence,  had  made  him  the  object  of  the 
Doctor's  suspicions,  and  Meeker  knew  it,  and  thanked 
heaven  for  the  load  that  was  lifted  when  Briggs  broke 
down  and  bore  it  all  with  him.  As  for  the  Doctor  him- 
self, he  came  at  the  same  hour  every  day,  poked  his 
cane  and  the  old  jokes  at  the  occupants  on  the  mourners' 
bench,  and  never  seemed  more  tickled  in  his  life  than 
when,  from  the  distant  front,  there  came  a  joint  letter 
from  Damon  and  Pythias,  who  happened  to  meet  for  one 
blissful  evening.  The  watch  episode  was  a  thing  he 
would  never  speak  of,  but  shrewd  school-boy  observers 
found  a  topic  that  would  sometimes  start  him  even  to 
the  extent  of  proclaiming  subsequent  half-holiday,  and 

21. 


322  FROM  SCHOOL  TO   BATTLE-FIELD. 

that  was  "  our  polemical  young  friends"  who  had  aban- 
doned the  classic  shades  of  Columbia  for  the  sword. 

"  ^Et  tunc  pugnabant  pugnis,^  "  he  began  one  day 

"  Ha,  young  gentlemen  of  the  First  Latin,  behold  the 
line  immortalized  by  your  predecessors  of  the  year 
agone.  Half-holiday  to  him  who  completes  it  with  a 
new  reading. 

"  'M  tunc — pugna — bant  pug — nis' 

"Who  supplies  the  ellipsis?  What!  a  volunteer 
already?  Let  us  see :  '  Et  nunc  gladiis  pugnant.''  Neither 
brilliant  nor  metrical,  but  pregnant  with  patriotic  truth. 

Half-holiday  to  Douglas,  and How  have  the  rest 

done,  Mr.  Halsey  ?" 

"  H'm,"  says  Halsey,  "  rather  worse  if  anything." 
"  Ha !  Ominous  report.  Take  your  seats,  young 
gentlemen,  and  we  resume  the  consideration  of  Xeno- 
phon.  What's  that  suggestion  ?  '  Fresh  air  to  clear 
your  brains  ?'  Loquax  redivivus  !  However,  Mr.  Hal- 
sey,— there  may  be  something  in  it.     We'll  try  it." 


THE   END. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 

670 

c.l 


